


Winter's Child - Born in War

by ExcitablePuppy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Child Abuse, Eating Disorders, Fic started pre-civil war, Graphic Descriptions of Torture, HYDRA are evil, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, but doing its damned best to be, but only mentioned, not a happy kid fic, probably not canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 59,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5804548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExcitablePuppy/pseuds/ExcitablePuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'The retrieval of the 'Little Winter' is under way. Bucky is a pile of thermals on the floor of the Quinjet.' </p><p>Three years after the fall of the Helicarriers, Bucky is still remembering everything that was stolen from him. And it is only now that he remembers the children. </p><p>Only one child, his daughter, has survived, and Bucky is determined to help her. But in order to play father to the Soldier's daughter, he must learn to accept that side of himself.</p><p>***UPDATE***</p><p>This work has not been abandoned. It is being rewritten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> ***UPDATE***  
> I just wanted to let every one know that i haven't abandoned this fic.  
> I have just finished University, and I am now currently in the process of rewriting this fic to correct aspects that have changed over the course of writing.  
> I have an actual plan for where this fic is going this time around, which is new for me as a writer. 
> 
> Largely things will remain unchanged, but there are at least five new chapters added so far. This thing just keeps getting longer and longer. so much for streamlining. 
> 
> Please heed the warnings in the tags before reading. I will not be held responsible for any incidents that you have been forewarned about.  
> On the other side, if you think I need to add something to the tags or up the maturity rating, please let me know, and I'll do that! I'm only human, and my ignorance to the horrors of this world is blissful.

WINTER SOLDIERS DAUGHTER FOUND TERRORISING SCHOOL

  
Recent revelations have brought to light information about a young girl suspected of being the Winter Soldier’s daughter. This intriguing revelation was brought to me by a St Lourdes High School student who was apparently left hospitalised by the girl, who cannot be currently named. The student, Josh Atlem, aged 16, is a prospective footballer, whose dreams of going professional could be thwarted by the severity of his injuries. The student states that he was not aware of who the girl was, or even that the Winter Soldier had a daughter, prior to a visitation from the renowned assassin himself while still in hospital.  
Josh Atlem was hospitalised after an attempt to make friendly conversation with a ‘Russian transfer student’ whom he has noticed does not have many friends at their school, ended with her breaking and dislocating his arm and leaving him severely concussed.  
The relationship between this schoolyard terrorist and the known Hydra Assassin was revealed when the Winter Soldier warned Atlem to ‘stay away from his daughter’ using both verbal and physical threats to emphasise his point. The young girl in question was confirmed to be not Bucky Barnes’s daughter, but the Winter Soldiers; a young Hydra loyalist who has been attending St. Lourdes school since last year.  
Though the Avengers have yet to make an official statement to confirm or deny the existence of the Soldiers daughter, initial investigations to the plausibility of Mr Atlem’s claims have proven to be in favour of his story.  
If this girl is the Winter Soldiers daughter, we must ask ourselves; Is she Hydra? Is she safe for our children to be around? Should she face trial for her crimes?  
If she faces trial, will we see a repeat of the pointless debacle of the Winter Soldier trial of 2016? The Winter Soldier was acquitted of 73 counts of murder, terrorism and treason in the public trial after the events of that summer surrounding the superhero registration act.  
The acquittal came at the small price of five years of surveillance, in which his recent foe, Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man, agreed to house the Winter Soldier at his tower in central Manhattan, which is equipped with state of the art security and surveillance, designed to keep threats out and the Hulk in. Though we may sleep soundly knowing that the notorious assassin is restrained, the same rules do not apply to the daughter whom is presumably just as skilled as the father, and whom is attending a local school, like her previous life is no danger to the children around her.  
  
  
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	2. Memories in Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like usual, Bucky remembers in his sleep.

Just like usual, Bucky remembered in his sleep. 

It’s been three years since the fall of SHIELD, since the fight on the Helicarrier. Since the end of Hydra. Mostly. 

It’s almost been a year since Bucky let Steve Rogers bring him home. 

Unlike usual, Bucky is tossing in his sleep, the dream memory fragmented and unclear, as opposed to his usual almost tangible flashbacks. No phantom restraints pinning his limbs to the bed, no ghostly gag muffling his screams. 

A stray fist landing heavy in the middle of his chest is what startles Steve to wakefulness. Not the silent panting breaths that Steve has attuned himself to waking to. 

“Bucky… Bucky. You’re dreaming, you’re safe. Wake up, baby, you’re safe here.” Steve is careful not to touch Bucky, shifting away on the bed. Though Bucky can now bare to sleep in the same bed as Steve, he still feels trapped and pinned down if Steve is too close when he wakes from a nightmare. Retreating across the bed gives Steve time to respond to the wild grab for his throat and Bucky’s eyes shoot open. Steve catches the limb, pushing it gently back to the bed before letting go. 

“Steve?” Bucky says as his eyes finally focus on the present. It’s always the same when he first wakes, unable to reconcile between the dream and the now. The look of confusion and horror and utter relief writ across his face in those moments makes Steve’s heart clench and want to punch and scream and break Hydra apart again and again. 

Bucky glances around the room as he remembers where and when he is, giving Steve a small nod to say he’s fine, and reaches out for Steve’s hand.  
Steve squeezes their joined hands and pulls him in for a chaste kiss. 

“You’re safe.” Steve reiterates, smiling sadly. He hates that lost look, the same as when he found his friend in Zola’s lab back in ’43. He hates more watching as the lost look turns to horror as Bucky remembers again what the dream resurfaced. 

“There were children,” Bucky sits up and stares at his bent knees in horror. There’s a determination in his eyes as he clings to the memory before it falls back into the tangled knot of his mind. He’s getting better at keeping hold of the threads, straightening out the tangle and stitching up the holes. 

“I know, I know. It wasn’t your fault Buck. It’s not on you.” They’ve had this conversation a few times already. Bucky remembering yet another slaughtered family – and god, how many children were there?! – and Bucky blaming himself for their deaths. Steve’s reassurances are starting to sound rehearsed, and that’s the worst part, that he feels like isn’t sounding as genuine as he feels, as Bucky needs him to be. 

“No. No, in there, there were children. In there.” He repeats for emphasis. 

‘There’ is what Bucky calls Hydra or the Red Room. Sometimes because old conditioning won’t let him say the names of his old masters, sometimes because he genuinely can’t tell the difference between them. Between the lack of being told and the memory wipes deleting anything he may have known, one cold cell looks an awful lot like another cold cell, one pink face blends into another pink face. There are only four faces clear in his memory , and honestly he wishes he could forget most of them.

“You mean like the Widows? You said they were still kids when you met them.” Steve sits up properly and leans against the headboard. Bucky falls sideward and lays his head in Steve’s lap, staring off at the far wall. Steve cards his fingers through Bucky’s long hair, he’s kept it around shoulder length. He’s damp with sweat, but his skin is cold to touch.

Bucky shakes his head. “Kids, yes, but older. Teenaged. But these were children, they were five or six first. I’m training them how to fight with knives. And – The knives were specially made for them, their small hands.”

“Are you sure?” Steve hates to second guess Bucky, but he’s remembered things wrong before, thought Steve was a protect mission, thought he’d killed back in Brooklyn.  
He hates to doubt, but Steve has only ever seen Bucky toss around like that once before, when he’d had a normal, run of the mill nightmare after Natasha had talked them in to watching some horror flick. 

“You sure you aren’t mixing things up in your head? You don’t normally toss around like that.”

Bucky shakes his head again, curls his left fingers around Steve’s knee. “It felt real, like a memory, but like my head couldn’t settle on just one. Normally I get… I get stuck, reliving one thing in- in high definition.” The fingers twitch tighter, almost painfully so. Bucky buries his nose in to Steve’s thigh and takes a deep breath, taking in his scent. Steve feels him forcing his muscles to relax. “But this was like memory after memory, all connected, all about the kids. They got older and they got… fewer. I think- I think some of them died.”

Steve takes a breath. “Maybe Natasha knows something? A second generation of Widows or something?” Steve suggests. He hates not being able to help Bucky remember these moments, hates how stressed Bucky can get when he can’t remember everything, can’t place the memory on the timeline. 

“Nyet. I know the Black Widow project only got the one lot, and they didn’t have boys. I remember there were boys, this time.” He pauses, scrunching up his face. “It felt… It feels recent, like Hydra, but I remember Russian. I…” Bucky shifts restlessly. 

Steve hates to doubt, but there is nothing he can remember from the Winter Soldier files that even hint to the Soldier being used for anything other than assassinations after the Black Widow project ended. But Steve has always believed Bucky when he says he knows something. He would never be accountable for making Bucky second guess himself more than he already does. 

“Then we’ll talk to Fury in the morning, maybe he can find something?” Steve says, pushing Bucky’s shoulder so he can shuffle back down the bed. Bucky sits up, turning away from him. Steve pulls at his shoulder to get him to lie back down. “Just try and get some more sleep for now. Please?” 

Its 0413 and something has kept them both from sleeping the whole night through for the last week and a half and now it’s starting to catch up with them. Super soldier or not, sleep in essential. 

Bucky takes a deep breath and turns to look at Steve in the dark. Steve’s night vision isn’t as good as Bucky’s, but its good enough to see that he’s looking both disturbed and guilty about something.

“That they… to me…” he swallows, while he convinces his jaw to relax again. “But they were children… They’re monsters, Steve. Worse than me.” Steve opens his mouth to protest but Bucky just talks over him. “People shouldn’t be able to do that to other people, let alone children… I… they’re monsters far worse than the one they created. They knew what they were doing and they still did it.” There’s a long pause where Bucky digs his fingers into the permanently tight muscle around his left shoulder. “I thought I was a robot for a long time. They told me I was a robot, and hell, maybe some of them actually believed that too. But you can’t think that about children. They grew, they got older, no one could think they were robots, they had to know what they were doing. And they still did it.”

Steve doesn’t have a response for that. Just saying ‘yes, you’re right’ isn’t enough. He wants to agree that Hydra are monsters, he wants to fight his friend on his opinion that he is a monster, he wants to prove to him he isn’t a robot. He’s proud that Bucky is finally starting to see that he is not to blame for what they made him do. But there’s no way he can put those thoughts to words. 

Instead he just pulls Bucky down to lay beside him, pulls him close to his chest and wraps his arms around him. He will use his own body as a shield against the horrors that haunt his friend and confidante. His lover. 

It’s been a year since Bucky came home, and he’s made so much progress. There were a few times were Bucky reverted back to the Winter Soldier, resumed his old mission and tried to kill Steve. But now he no longer tries to fight him or the other Avengers, or locks himself away in cupboards and closets, or cowers in corners from horrors only he can see. He no longer begs for the mercy of a bullet in his brain. 

But though he still has his dark days, still can’t accept that he’s not the monster he thinks he is, he can smile and laugh with his friends and team mates. He doesn’t think himself wholly undeserving of their friendship or of happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, criticisms and tag suggestion are welcomed and encouraged.


	3. Stolen Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's four months later when Bucky gets a text from Fury that reads simply: AI briefing room, ASAP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: This chapter contains some graphic descriptions of violence against children.   
> I know, I am a bad, bad person.

Its four months later when Bucky receives a text from Fury that reads simply: AI briefing room, ASAP

In the aftermath of Ultron’s attack on Sokovia, Tony Stark donated an old storehouse and a lot of money to the newly formed Avengers Initiative. The Initiative has emerged from the ashes of SHIELD, hiring many of the loyal ex SHIELD agents and it has grown in to something akin to its predecessor, but far more public in their operations. 

Though Steve is technically ‘boss’ as leader of the Avengers team and Tony’s aversion to responsibility, Steve has let Hill take up the role of Director of Operations. She has the experience running an intelligence organisation that Steve does not, and he welcomes her judgment on matters he can’t make himself. And besides, Steve was a little busy finding and helping Bucky when not actively hunting down Hydra bases and fighting Tony to run a band of spies and superheroes. And now, he’s just never felt like taking over, even though their original agreement was Hill was only a temporary director. 

Fury, still being legally dead, hasn’t been officially hired by the Initiative, but though he reports to the Initiative like every other agent, he has the freedom to do freelance and personal missions. He’s take his ‘demotion’ in stride and listens to Hill’s orders, though the fact that she still looks to him for guidance may be a softener to the blow. 

Hill looks up at them for a second when they enter the briefing room before tapping something on her tablet and the room secures. Natasha is already here and they sit opposite her at the long glossy wood table.

Bucky visibly flinches at the sound of the doors locking and the windows darkening, but even at only three years since the fall, he quickly calms and sits straight backed and ready. 

Sometimes it’s painful for Steve to see just how much Bucky has changed. He was always a fairly relaxed guy, even in the war, he was never the sort to stand perfectly to attention like a good little soldier. Sure he’d stand, but there was always a defiant tilt to his jaw, a casual slope in his shoulders. 

Fury steps out of his corner and looks at Bucky. “Four months ago you asked me to look in to young children being trained by Hydra or the Red Room,” Fury starts. The skin around Natasha’s eyes tightens as she silently questions what Fury is talking about. After asking Fury to look into this, neither of them had actually bothered Natasha about Bucky’s dream. 

“I found them.” He procures a manila file from somewhere and drops it onto the table between them. It’s the original document, not a copy, and judging by the fraying edges and aging paper, it’s somewhere close to twenty years old, Bucky guesses. 

The worst part is how thick the file is. 

“I think I understand some of your confusion, Sergeant, as to which party was involved. After the fall of the Soviet Union, Hydra started to provide funding to some of Department X’s little projects, including, surprisingly, the Black Widow project.” This catches Natasha’s attention, she hadn’t known this. 

“About 25 years ago, Hydra started recruiting many of Department X’s scientists and through them, created the Russian branch of Hydra. 21 years ago they started a project they called Проekt Нeмного Зимой.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen a little while Natasha dutifully translates “Project Little Winter.”

“Very creative isn’t it.?” Fury continues. “It was started in response to a particularly aggressive rebellion from the Winter Soldier and an escape attempt to New York.”

Bucky sinks down a little, looking almost scolded, like he’s still expecting Hydra to punish him. Steve slides his hand closer to Bucky’s on the table, linking their little fingers. 

“The project started out as an attempt to clone the Winter Soldier, but even today, cloning isn’t a perfect science and their attempts were completely unsuccessful, probably due to the serum. So they moved on to more traditional methods. They successfully fertilised and implanted 23 embryos into 13 surrogate mothers.” Fury pauses to let that sink in for a moment. “There’s no information on who the surrogate mothers were, but the matriarchal DNA used were samples taken from the Black Widow project.”

There’s heavy silence as the two assassins stare at each other with the subtle but present expressions of shock and horror. 

“Are you saying I have twenty-three kids with one or all the Black Widows?” Bucky’s voice comes out a lot quieter but a lot calmer than he was expecting.

“That’s – not possible. The Black Widows were all sterilised, it made things less… messy. We can’t-“ Natasha says, working to regain her calm exterior. 

“Not before preserving the eggs.” Fury countered. “The Widows were successfully enhanced, it would be beneficial to ensure they could recreate that down the line.” He turned to Bucky. “And no, I’m saying Hydra attempted to make 23 little Winters and Widows, but you have one child. A daughter.”

Hill taps something on her tablet before taking over. “Of the twenty free eggs fertilised, three mothers miscarried, resulting in six deaths in utero. Two more children died during labour – there’s a side note here that states the COD as the surrogate mother being severely malnourished, she also died…” 

“So we can theorize that the mothers weren’t there by choice. Or at least not all of them.” Natasha cuts in. 

Hill nods solemnly. “Malnourishment is the COD for three more deaths over the next eighteen months.” Hill pauses for a steadying breath before continuing. “The children were neglected, severely. They were ’interacted with’ three times a day, when they were fed, cleaned and socialised with just enough to ensure they’d pick up on language.” Hill stops, putting her tablet down in her lap for a moment. 

Hill isn’t the motherly kind of woman, she’d once said she wouldn’t know what to do with anyone too young to be a spy. But anyone who can read about child abuse in the clinical language of Hydra’s files and not get angry ought to be shot. 

She picks her tablet back up and reads what’s next and promptly returns it to her lap and looks at Steve. “At one point they acquired a sample of your blood. They tried to replicate the serum, but were mostly unsuccessful.” 

“We already know that, they gave what they made to Bucky.” Steve acknowledged. At Bucky’s trial Nelson and Murdock had found evidence that Hydra had made a poor mockery of the serum Steve had received and forced it on the Winter Soldier. They’d recorded everything on grainy old film reels. On top of what Bucky had already been injected with in ’43, it had almost killed him. His body tried to reject the new serum at first until it finally accepted and assimilated it instead. He’s the living example of what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. 

Steve supposes that he is too, but even though he had to sign about 200 forms about accidental death during his procedure, he’d never really felt like his serum could have killed him. 

Hill presses on, her whole body a tight line as she tries to maintain her professional detachment from this situation. 

“They never stopped trying to perfect it. When… When they children were three years old, they were given the super soldier serum.” They all knew what was coming, but still the room fills with horrified silence. 

“No.” Steve whispers. He may play it that the procedure was a walk in the park, but truthfully, it was the most painful and terrifying experience of his life.  
“Five died during the procedure.”

“That still leaves seven children, enhanced and alive.” Natasha points out with false calm. She may have perfected her mask when it comes to not showing the world her feelings, but not even Natasha can stop herself from looking ashen with the sickness she feels in the pit of her stomach. 

“Accidents happen.” Fury states, an edge to his tone Steve has never heard before. “Particularly when you give toddlers knives.”

Hill taps her tablet again and a screen behind her blossoms into life. There’s a picture of a sterile white room, paint on concrete, no visible windows and lit with the harsh light of white fluorescents. Lined up in the middle of the room are seven young children. They all look about three years old, and standing in perfect parade rest. Four girls and three boys. They all have varying shades of brown or auburn hair and dead eyes, and they look similar enough to obviously be siblings. They are all wearing identical black clothes, the boys with neat short hair and the girls with scraped back ponytails. They look like soldiers in miniature. An army of three year olds. 

“The first ‘accident’ was a male, stabbed in the throat by his sister in a training exercise, aged four. The second was female. Cause of death is stated as ‘unable to endure education.’ Education refers to a few things, but notably their exposure to pressure and pain.” Hill takes a steadying breath before continuing, “They hurt them regularly, or made them hurt each other. She was six. The third was another female aged seven.” She pauses and looks at Bucky. He’s pale and tense but forcing himself to take regular breaths, even if they are shallow and shuddering.

“Sometimes they made you watch, or even conduct their… torture.” She says it as it is. “One time they went too far, too deep, and she wasn’t healing. The children all had enhanced healing capabilities, but they found a way to slow it. Because they could. She was bleeding out slowly and – and she was awake, they wouldn’t let her… They wanted to time how long… The Winter Soldier broke her neck before the guards could stop him. Killed her.” 

“Me.” Bucky whispers. “I killed her.” He pulls his hands down into his lap and stares at them, like he can see the blood they should be drenched in.

“No, Buck, you can’t- You didn’t. None of what you did as the Winter Soldier is on you.” Steve tries to reassure Bucky. He places his hand over Bucky’s in his lap but Bucky jerks away from the contact. 

“NO, Stevie, that wasn’t Hydra, that was me. They didn’t order it, they didn’t want it. Hell they tried to stop me. I just did it. I broke her neck and I killed her.”

“True. You killed her.” Fury states simply with a shrug. “But you killed her quicker and cleaner than Hydra were going to let her. They wanted to time how long it would take for her to bleed out, but you ended her pain rather than watch. That’s called mercy. That’s fucking fatherly love as far as I’m concerned.”

“But i-“ Bucky starts. 

“NO, Bucky! No!” Steve cuts across what ever thought Bucky was having before he could finish it. Steve has no idea what he was going to say, but ‘buts’ are always bad. 

Bucky relents, giving a small nod, a single barely there motion, but continues to stare at his hands. Steve can’t even begin to imagine how Bucky must feel. He’d always thought his friend would make a good father one day, he was good with kids, and Steve always loved to watch him with his three much younger sisters, back before the war. 

“A second male, COD is marked on the front page as simply ‘punishment’. After a little digging through the file, I found… You know you’d make a great father, given the chance…” Hill says, avoiding voicing what’s written. 

Bucky settles her with the best Winter Soldier glare he can muster through the panic welling in his chest. He’s killed another of his own children and he knows it. 

“You had to be reintroduced to them every time they took you off the ice, but regardless, you cared for the kids. You’d train them, but you wouldn’t hurt them, not without some painful coercion. You tried to protect them. The files – Hydra were amused by this. They found that you were more easily persuaded if the kids were in danger.”

“No. No. NO.” Bucky whispers. He hadn’t hurt the kid, Hydra had, because it was more effective than hurting him. Cheaper than the chair every time he resisted. 

“They tortured the kid in front of you. Normally one of the children were put in the Cryo-chamber until your mission was complete. But you broke it, put your fist through it to stop them.” Bucky was openly crying now, tears freely streaming down his cheeks into the week old scruff he maintains. Natasha is a tense line of horror and Steve is practically vibrating with anger. “Instead they vivi-“ her voice broke. “They- I’m sorry I can’t.” She dropped the tablet into her lap and wiped her hand over her face. 

Fury who had retreated back into his shadowy corner spoke up. “He was seven. The next child was nine, female, died in a bomb explosion after an unforeseen complication on a mission. The last one is the worst, I think. Male, thirteen, do you need to hear it?” Fury asks. 

Bucky wipes his face with the back of his hand. His other hand, the metal one has curled unconsciously into a tight fist, gears whirring like its preparing for a fight. He looks Fury dead in the eye and nods.

“The last two kids were sent on an extended mission together. They got a taste of the real world and never showed up for extraction. They were located quickly and returned to Hydra. As punishment, and to ensure they never even thought of running again, they put them in the chair.” Bucky, if possible, tensed more than he already was, and looked between Fury and Hill, eyes pleading a desperate ‘no’. Hill stared down at her tablet and picked up where Fury had left it, she was the one with the details in front of her after all. 

“They perfected the voltage needed to, er, reset the Winter Soldier, But it was too much for a child, even with enhancements. They resuscitated the boy, but he was… They revived his body but they’d burnt out his brain. They gave two weeks for any sign of recovery but there was nothing. They told the last girl to deal with him then, after making the appropriate adjustments to the voltage, they wiped her clean.” Hill looked about ready to throw up and she’d known what was coming. 

Bucky stands quickly, sending his chair toppling in the process, and stalks over to the corner by the door before crumpling to the floor. 

Natasha has a distance in her eyes that means she’s achieved what Steve had only ever seen Bucky do and retreated down inside herself where she doesn’t have to feel anything.  
Everyone stayed quiet for a few long minutes, the only sound Bucky’s ragged breathing as he tries not to throw up in the plant pot he’s glaring at like it personally offends him. 

“Did… Did they have names?” Bucky asks, swallowing down the lump of emotion in his throat. He’s pretty sure he already knows the answer without having to hear it. 

“No.” Hill states, pulling her professional blankness back into place. “They were referred to by Russian numbers. The girl that survived was called Desyat.” 

“Ten.” Bucky translates. “Where is she?”

“The file ends with her…” another steadying breath, Bucky takes one too to prepare himself, god knows he’ll need it. “They put her in cold storage. Cryogenically frozen and stored in a secure location. We’re fairly certain we know where that location is.”

“I…” Bucky starts, voice breaking as it passes the lump in his throat. “I want to help her. 

“We’ll do what we can James. But you have to understand, she has no past before Hydra, nothing other than what they did to her, and she may be- She might be loyal to them.”

“She’s not.” He insists. “Not if she remembers.”

Hill nods her understanding, but her face is grim. “The file details the intense programming she was subjected to, she may not have a choice. She’s also got nothing to break it, not like you did, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you just how long it took you to break your programming, even though you had Steve.” She looks between the trio sat before her, before continuing. “You have to be prepared she may not be able to break it, or ever live something even close to normal.” 

Bucky takes a moment, staring at his hands on his knees. He’s still tucked away in the corner, and doesn’t plan on moving any time soon. 

“They file is yours if you want it. Extraction is planned for five days from now. Let us know how much you want the others to know.” Fury says, making to leave, he stops as he passes Bucky and gives him one of his trademarked piercing stares before he leaves without another word, Hill hot on his tail.

The darkened room is quiet. Steve has lost his hand to Bucky who has thankfully relinquished his death grip on his crushed digits and is now idly pushing his fingers between the bones of his palm. 

Slowly, carefully, Steve captures the hands with his own and coaxes Bucky up and back to the table, joining Natasha on her side so they can all decide to not read the file together. Natasha is glaring at the manila envelope with a look that’s somewhere between horror and disgust. 

Cautiously, like it’s a bomb waiting to go off, Bucky pulls it towards him by a finger on the corner. He doesn’t open it yet, just stares at the words on the front. Little Winter. 

It’s Natasha who finds the courage to open it, flicking it open like it’s poisoned. The top page is a photo of a young girl, no more than 14 or 15, with auburn hair and icy blue eyes, her face so perfectly void of all emotion it puts Natasha’s mask to shame. But the most shocking part is how much like her parents she looks. She has Bucky’s eyes and strong jaw, but Natasha’s full lips and high cheek bones. After a minute of the three just gaping at the photo, Natasha jerks herself back into action and closes the file forcibly, before sitting back and breathing deeply. 

“I am not a mother.” She declares eventually, but opens the file again and together they read it. 

If the Winter Soldier file didn’t give Steve nightmares, this would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, criticisms and tag suggestion are welcomed and encouraged.
> 
> I am two pygmy goats in a trench coat. 
> 
> If you feel like squealing and making rapid hand gestures with my you can find me on Tumblr at http://excitablepuppy.tumblr.com/


	4. Love what is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They agree to let a few people be fully briefed on the Little Winter and everyone else to be told the details eventually or as necessary.

They agree to let a few people be briefed on the Little Winter the next day, and everyone else to be told eventually or as necessary.

Bucky had to stop before getting even halfway through the file, reading it brought back bad memories with the usual high definition kick in the head. Natasha assures him that it really is as horrible as he expects it to be and that the others deserve to know that they intend on bringing someone in to their home and work place who is more than capable of doing them harm.

Steve and Bucky invite Sam and Natasha invites Clint, because wherever Natasha goes, Clint follows. (“Someone’s gotta keep that kid outa trouble.”) Fury calls in Tony Stark who brings Bruce along for the ride because they were busy talking about science stuff and then they were here.

Darcy, who has taken on a secretarial role in the Initiative, is sitting in on the meeting making notes and being an amazingly comforting presence with her down to earth attitude as usual. 

There are still some tensions between Steve and Tony, mostly because they’re both stubborn asses who refuse to apologise before the other. But mostly everyone are friendly again. 

Everyone’s reactions were pretty expected. Tony, Clint and Darcy attempt some dark humour at the announcement the Winter Soldier has a daughter, but quickly quieten when they’re given the barest descriptions of what the kids went through.

Natasha has defaulted to her blank mask, but Darcy looks more than horrified enough for them both.

Bucky has taken his usual spot in the back of the room, but every time someone turns to look at him, he shrinks down in his chair a little further, until Steve is sure that he’s going to fall off and straight under the table if he goes any further.

Tony is tasked with figuring out how the Cryo-chamber they recovered from DC works. A job that would have been so much easier if Bucky hadn’t gotten there first and pummelled the thing in to scrap metal. Amazingly he’s managed to leave most of the heating systems intact, which is the only bit Tony really needs to look at.

Stark spends the entirety of the four days he’s been given analysing the chamber, and builds a functioning replica just to make sure he knows that he knows how it works. After freezing and thawing a carving Turkey affectionately dubbed ‘Peirce’ before cooking it for dinner, Tony offers the chamber up to Bucky so he can punch the hell out of a second one, which he does with a slightly manic grin on his face while any and all observers watch from a safe distance.

“That felt better than rough sex after a nightmare.” He admits.

“Hey!” Steve exclaims, holding a hand to his chest in mock hurt.

“The sex is amazing, Steve! But no matter how rough, sometimes I just gotta punch stuff.”

“I know, Buck.”

¬_¬

Sam spends a lot of time with Bucky, talking him down from his guilt trip. Bucky is blaming himself, again, but now saying he should have gotten the kids out of Hydra the moment he met them.

“And how exactly would you have managed that?” Sam asks, watching from the sofa as Bucky paces relentlessly, the plates of his metal arm recalibrating every time he opens and closes his fist. “Did you understand that it was wrong?”

“No, but-“

“Were you ever aware that running was an option? Was running ever an option for you?”

“No! But-“

“Scott and Pym had to dig three trackers out of you that you didn’t know about on top of the two you dug out of yourself before! How far do you think you would have gotten with seven kids each with their own set of trackers?”

“Not far.” He admits, finally stopping.

“So do you really think you could have gotten them out? In the state that you were in? Or are you just trying to beat yourself up about something that you had no control over?”

“You’re right. It’s just, what they did, I should have…”

“Barnes stop. You can’t change the past, but you can get over yourself and try and help the kid recover from this.”

¬_¬

After reading the Little Winter file Bucky starts remembering more and more about the children, details that the Hydra techs didn’t feel suitable to make more than a footnote on, if they even bothered with that.

The file is actually surprisingly? Horrifyingly? Detailed about what was done, at least compared to the Winter Soldier file, which was barely worth the effort of writing, with how little detail they put in it.

> ‘LW:WS-283  
>  The Soldier and the Little Winter subjects have exhibited curious speech patterns. The Juveniles refer to the Soldier as ‘Отец’ (father) and the Soldier refers to the males as ‘Сын’ (son) and the females as Дочь (daughter). It is unclear as to how they have come to associate these words with themselves. These speech choices along with the physical closeness that has always been demonstrated between the Soldier and the Little Winter subjects, which was originally thought to just be a matter of sharing body heat when the Soldier was to be kept out of Cryo, has now become a cause for concern. Russian Head has expressed an interest in observing these behaviours, but American Head has ordered a full reset once this aspect of their training is complete, for fear that the Soldier will continue these habits once returned to American Head. As owner of the Winter Soldier, we must adhere to his instructions. Russian Head has put in a formal request for further observation should these habits reoccur at the next stage of training. ’

_¬_¬_

_“[Identify the individuals before you.]”_

_He was breathing hard, they’d been playing this game for a while now, or maybe it was only minutes, its hard to keep track of time when every nerve ending in your body is lighting up like a Christmas tree as the electricity burns through you. He’s in the Chair, but it’s not the Chair making the pain, that’s the STRIKE guy with the modified stun baton who happily jabs it between the Soldiers legs every time he give a wrong answer. He knows the answer he’s supposed to give, but to give it would be to lie. And Master Lukin hates for his ‘sweet Vanya’ to lie, more than he ‘hates’ to see the Soldier in pain. Lukin is watching._

_“[Children.]” The Soldier spits out. Pain._

_“[Identify this individual.]” The tech pulls one of the males from the line-up._

_“[Son Eight.]” Pain._

_“[Identify this individual.]” he repeats._

_“[Son Eight.]” Pain. When it subsides the male has been pushed back in to the line. Lukin walks over to the Soldier, his too sweet smile marring his face. He bends over so his face is level with the Soldiers, far to close, only close because the Soldier is restrained, like always._

_“[My sweet Vanya, why do you fool yourself, these are not your children, a weapon cannot have children. Weapons cannot **be** children.]” he tucks the Soldiers long hair behind his ear while he talks, his hand lingering on his jaw. The Soldier wants to pull away but his muscles are still tight and twitching from the shocks and he can’t convince his head to move. _

_“[Children.]” he rasps out defiantly._

_Lukin sighs, too dramatically to be real, and straightens. He looks contemplative for a few seconds, before he brings his hand around hard against the Soldiers face._

_“[Why you maintain these warped ideas, I’ll never know.]” Lukin says as he walks behind the line of four children. They’re no older than seven, but they’re straight backed and to attention, but their cold eyes are rimmed with emotion they can’t express as they watch the one they call ‘Father’ defy the one they call ‘Master’. Loyalties split between love and orders._

_Lukin stands behind one of the females. She looks small and fragile in front of Lukin’s towering figure as he looms over her. He smooths her hair away from her face, blunt nails scraping against her scalp and pulling strands from the elastic that keeps her long auburn hair contained. His other hand rests heavy on her shoulder, fingers digging a harsh massage into the soft flesh under her collar._

_The Soldier growls. A warning that would have been more threatening if he wasn’t so completely restrained._

_Lukin’s hand slips from her shoulder to her throat. His fingers tightened on her pulse points while he pushes the heel of his palm into her windpipe, and the other hand pulls at the bun in her hair._

_She tenses as she struggles to breathe, her body’s natural instincts to struggle visibly pounding against the unbreakable wall of her conditioning to be compliant in the Masters hands._

_The Soldier snarls and strains, some instinct buried deep inside that won’t let him sit idle while these children are hurt._

_“Vanya, you know what I’m asking of you. Relinquish these childish ideals of fatherhood. These are not children. They are weapons. Weapons do not have fathers, my sweet Ivanushka.”_

_“[Weapons.]” The Soldier relents. He will fight for as long as they hurt him, but that instinct is screaming, he cannot bear to see his children in pain._

_Lukin still waits until he can feel her getting heavy in his grasp before releasing her, spluttering to the ground._

_“That was not so hard, was it, Ivanushka?” Lukin steps over the girl on the ground and back to the Soldier. He strokes the Soldiers cheek for a moment before pushing him back in the chair until he’s almost laying. The Soldier can feel his heartbeat pick up and pound a desperate rhythm against his ribs. This only ever results in one thing._

_“Full reset.” Lukin tells the techs._

> ‘LW:WS-297  
>  The Soldier has again exhibited the protective instinct towards the juveniles. It is theorized that there is some base instinct that we are unable to remove or override that demands the survival of his genetic legacy. This instinct, we theorize, is triggered by perhaps smell or the recognition of similar features to his own. The terms of address previously mentioned in file LW:WS-283 have again been exhibited. Lukin has expressed his intent to observe this behaviour again. After the quick coercion he achieved previously, Peirce has granted permission with condition.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I am Pierce the frozen turkey. I exist only to write for your entertainment. 
> 
> find me on Tumblr :   
> excitablepuppy.tumblr.com


	5. Hell has Frozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The retrieval of the Little Winter is underway.

The retrieval of the Little Winter is underway. They’re in Russia, inside the Arctic Circle on one of the many small islands in the Kara Sea. The landscape is washed out white of permafrost. It’s July and it’s snowing, a light fall of thick white flakes that soak through the top layers of clothing and freeze them solid.

Bucky is a pile of black and grey thermals on the floor of the quinjet. He’d joined the mission, despite being reassured that it wasn’t necessary, that the others can handle any threats, that he’ll just be an extra body when the Initiatives techs prep the tank for transport. It would be better if he sat this one out.

He’d heard their advice and chose to ignore it. He needed to be there, he told them. He needed to see, needed to know. He’s just be a wreck if he stayed behind, he told them. He should have listened, they should have never agreed.

He may have been a broken wreck if he’d stayed behind, but at least he would have been a warm broken wreck, somewhere safe and out of the way of people trying to do important jobs. But he’d come to the icy plains of hell, in the middle of a land that god forgot, and now he’s a broken wreck on the floor, in the middle of a quinjet while people are busily moving around him.

He felt surprisingly OK when they landed, or as OK as possible considering he hasn’t slept since Fury told him about the kids. He’d felt a slight apprehensive buzz as they scouted the area ahead of the techs’ arrival. He was fine as they burst through the front door, Winter Soldier calm as he lead a small team through the east upper quadrant of the warehouse. He breathed through a small spike of panic when Fury’s voice sounded in his ear, “We’ve found her.” Rediscovered the calm as he followed directions to the target. But when he saw it, the panic returned tenfold. He can’t remember leaving the warehouse. One second he was turning a corner and freezing as he saw the familiar shape of the Cryo-chamber, the next he’s climbing the ramp of a quinjet and collapsing in a heap. He’s probably thrown up somewhere between here and there, going by the acidic taste on his tongue and burning of his throat. 

There are people moving around him and he realises he’s on the wrong jet, he’s on the tech’s jet, but everyone is managing to go about their work and ignore him. He should be embarrassed, he should be feeling the heat of shame colouring his cheeks, showing his weaknesses to strangers. The legendary Winter Soldier, the Ghost of Death, sent cowering by a metal box. He would feel embarrassed, if he could feel anything other than the click, click, whir of the servos and gears of his arm as they fight to remain operational in the cold. 

A pair of boots stop beside him, and Hawkeye crouches down into his field of vision.

“Barnes, you OK in there?” He doesn’t reach out, he doesn’t touch, just sits in that vulnerable crouch. Bucky likes Barton, when he’s in the mood for liking people; he understands. 

Bucky attempts to grunt an affirmative, but it comes out as a whimper. 

“Come on Barnes, time to get up.” He offers a helping hand. Bucky ignores it, staying huddled on the floor. “Come on man, they pulled me off look out to scrape you off the floor. We’re the only snipers on this mission, and the longer we both stay sleeping on the floor, the better chance Hydra have of sneaking up on our asses. We haven’t cleared Russia yet, remember.”

Bucky manages to twitch at that, but his muscles are locked up in fear. It’s hard to shake the memory of freezing when you are actually freezing. 

“You gonna make me haul your heavy ass off this quinjet?”

He’s trying, he’s really trying to sit up, but his body just isn’t responding. He twitches and jerks, and manages to slide an elbow underneath himself, but that about as much as he can convince his body to move right now. 

“Jeez, you’re out of it. I knew we should have made room for cap.” Barton hooks a gloved hand under Bucky’s arm and hauls him up to sitting. The arm he pulls on is the metal one, and the joints creak with the cold. “Making some funny noises in there. You’re supposed to be the Winter Soldier, but the arm they stuck you with can’t handle a little cold weather?” 

“Oil freezes, Stark busy.” Is all Bucky manages in way of an explanation. The lubricants that normally keep his arm working efficiently will congeal in arctic temperatures. Ideally he should have had the lubricants changed to ones that are suitable for this kind of cold, but Stark had been busy with the Cryo-chamber and then he really hadn’t been up for sitting in a lab while Stark rambled and ranted at Bucky about everything that crossed his mind. 

Being sat up now, Bucky feels a little more with it, and can even cooperate as Hawkeye pulls him to his feet and down the ramp of the quinjet. Barton settles Bucky into a seat on the STRIKE team jet just as Fury announces over the comms that the techs are ready to move the chamber and get out of this frozen hell. Hawkeye resumes his position on top of the jet just in time to see the techs leading out the grey metal tank through the main doors of the warehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little later than normal, Sorry!! And its a short one, so double sorry.
> 
> Also is it weird if i laugh at my own writings? cos, Lol Bucky, you pathetic pile of thermals. 
> 
> As usual seek me out, talk to me, tell me to stop and spare the fandom my rambles.   
> excitablepuppy.tumblr.com


	6. Hands That Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky decides that after his disastrous performance in Russia that maybe it’s best that he isn’t around when they wake the Little Winter from her cryo-sleep

Bucky decides that after his disastrous performance in Russia that maybe it’s best that he isn’t around when they wake the Little Winter from her cryo-sleep. Instead Wednesday, the Initiatives version of Friday, which is apparently based off another AI called Jarvis which is now the base programming for Vision – or something, whatever. The only bit of Starks rambling explanation that he actually listened to was the bit where Wednesday and Friday can apparently ‘talk’ to each other, and keeps Tony Stark updated on his whereabouts, ensuring that he doesn’t break the 24/7 surveillance that was court ordered instead of life imprisonment. Wednesday sets Bucky up with a live stream of the defreeze in a safe, out of the way room in the base, where he watches with Steve.

The Initiatives medics have prepared for every scenario conceivable. There are sedatives and electric blankets and a whole cupboard full of heated bags of saline and blood, restraints on the gurney and surgical tools lined up neatly on a tray.

Though Stark may have figured out how the chamber works, no one really knows how a live human body will respond when reanimated after freezing. There is a grand total of two cases of cryogenic reanimations being successful. One they just let defrost until he got up and started walking and talking and the other, no-one but the Hydra technicians know how that goes and they’re mostly six feet under now. Bucky feels a little guilty about his revenge murder spree, maybe he should have left some of the techs alive to face life imprisonment.

So they’re prepared for everything. Mostly.

What no one expects when the door finally unlocks and hisses open is for the young girl inside to be already conscious. Blue lipped and too cold to even shiver, she’s semi coordinated when she stumbles out. One of the nurses catches the girl as she starts to fall. She hisses against the heat of his hands on her skin, but doesn’t fight as he leads her to the ~~table~~ bed and helps her lay down.

Bucky remembers this- 

_The disorientation of a new place when it only feels like minutes since you went in. You can’t really see because the muscles of your eyes are too cold to focus properly, but you can see enough to know this room is not the one you went to sleep in. Your nose and mouth are stuffed full of the chemical smell of the chamber, but you can smell enough to know you are somewhere else, a different city, a different country._

_Your skin burns as you step out, fall out of the chamber and the too warm air rushes over you. Concrete, tiles that you know should be cold feel like hot coals under you._

_You’re muscles are stiff from the cold, still half frozen, and heavy with whatever chemical crap they pump you full of to make you compliant, to make you cold, even before they freeze you._

_You’re disorientated, your body won’t respond to your commands, every part of you is screaming fiery agony, and you’re terrified. You don’t know anything, not even language, your head is still a burnt out fog from the wipe they forced on you not even five minutes ago. You were still sweating and panting even as the lowered your core temperature and locked you away._

_You’re grabbed by hands that burn and laid out on a table, restrained even though it takes more focus than you have to even lift a finger. Wrists, ankles, chest, hips, all locked down tight, so tight it hurts. They stick needles in you and still you can’t respond. You learn to move, learn to scream when at last they cover you with a blanket made of fire._

“-ky?” a voice says. “Bucky?” Bucky looks up, sees blue. Familiar. Safe.

“Steve?”

“Hey. You OK?” He smiles sadly, the crease on his brow deepening. Bucky is sat on the floor, back pressed into a corner. He doesn’t remember getting here. The chair he was sat on has been knocked over, and Steve’s is spinning slowly almost stopping.

“Remembered.” Is all he can force himself to say.

“You remembered, uh, that?” Steve gestures to the screen, sound now muted, but still showing the surgery room where they were waking the Little Winter. Bucky nods.

Steve doesn’t try to pry for details, that’s why he loves him, he knows Bucky will talk when he’s ready.

“Everything burns.” He says eventually.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one! Oh no, I'm sorry. I promise next weeks is longer.   
> As always tell me if you think i need more warnings. I'm so bad at that. 
> 
> I am two baby hedgehogs collaborating to give you the feels.   
> Find me on tumblr!  
> excitablepuppy.tumblr.com


	7. Awkward Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not until late the next day that he gets the report of her being stable and waking up, but it still takes a couple of days more for Bucky to gather up enough scraps of his confidence to go to the Initiative and see the child he wanted to help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the tags for trigger warnings!!!!!  
> In this chapter:-  
> References to eating disorders.  
> References to torture.  
> References to child abuse.   
> References to Hydra techs being bad doctors.

It’s not until late the next day that he gets the report of her being stable and waking up, but it still takes a couple of days more for Bucky to gather up enough scraps of his confidence to go to the Initiative and see the child he wanted to help. His child. God, that’s just wrong to think. Besides he can’t keep coming up with excuses why he can’t go see her when he’s been coming to the Initiative every day to use the AI enhanced assault course at the base. She’s literally just an elevator ride away, it’s not like it’s a huge insurmountable object; he’s crossed the Himalayas in winter he can ride a fucking elevator four floors.

He showers in the locker room, pulls on the incredibly comfortable, too big dark blue sweater he stole off Steve a while back and black skinnies, throws his damp hair up in a bun at the back of his head, not caring that it will leave stupid kinks when it’s dry, and steps in to the elevator. His finger hovers over the button before he regathers the scraps of his confidence and jabs the button harder than is strictly necessary.

The elevator doors open and Bucky freezes. His head is full of a cacophony of _can’tcan’tcan’tcan’t_ and confusing flashes of past horrors.

He stands forcing his breathing in to the calm counts of five like Sam showed him. He’s there for a while, he knows he’s there for longer than the doors should have shut again, even though they don’t. he just stands breathing.

“ _Sir_.” A voice radiates from the walls. He jumps with the sudden sound. “ _The elevator is being summoned elsewhere. I can only delay it for so long_.” Wednesday’s calming Geordie tones sound.

 _What is it with Tony and British accents?_ He thinks.

“Sorry.” He mumbles and forces himself to step out of the elevator. The doors close behind him. He can’t go back now. He goes forward.

Medical is at the end of a short corridor, he can smell the chemical clean, even out here. The smell isn’t as bad as it used to be, in the past. He remembers sitting outside hospital rooms, feeling his nose and throat burn slightly with the stench of bleach. He remembers laying down on metal tables unable to move for the drugs in his system, while techs clean up the piss and blood from the floor underneath him, from the table, from him. The uncomfortable lingering sting of bleach on his skin.

He shakes his head to dislodge the unwelcome memory.

Slowly, he pushes the door open, letting it swing wide before he steps into the room. Medical is a wide corridor with rooms off to the sides, painted in shades of green and yellow instead of the expected white and grey.

A tidy Nurse’s station sits off to one side and a waiting area filled with a handful of leather armchairs and sofas to the other.

A nurse, who Bucky recognises from one of the few times one of the team has needed patching up after a mission or maybe from the footage of them waking the kid up, is sat in the station. He looks up with a warm smile as Bucky walks in. The nurse is approximately 25-30, local accent, SHIELD training, threat level 3.

“Sergeant Barnes. The, uh… She’s through there, second room on the left. Dr Nixon is with her today.” The nurse returns to his paperwork.

Bucky manages to convince his legs to walk further into the area. It helps that the place is painted cheery pastel colours; that the air conditioning filters out most of the smell of bleach. It helps him not think about the… things Hydra did to him in cold, sterile rooms.

He steps in front of the indicated door, takes a deep breath, a second, a third, and knocks.

“Come in.” a womans voice calls out.

He enters.

“Ah, Sergeant Barnes. It’s nice to meet you.” The voice belongs to the doctor. Marion Nixon approximately 45-50 years old, northern English accent, military background, maintains frontlines fitness levels, favours left leg, but moves like the right doesn’t bother her, old injury, learned behaviour that hasn’t been unlearned. Threat level 5. Her face is cut with smile lines that are starting to take on the depth of age.

She smiles at him. She’s standing on the far side of the room facing the door. Holding a StarkPad with one hand the other hovering over it.

The girl is sat up on the bed, propped up on a pillow. Her long auburn hair braided and twisted back into a bun. She’s watching him, not a hint of recognition on her face even as she studies his own, closely.

“Отец.” She looks away from him at the name, a small line of confusion on her brow.

“Y-yeah. Do you remember?” She shakes her head, a small jerky motion really. “That’s OK.” He almost says ‘you will’ but does he really want her to remember? The horrors, the torture, the – everything else. He certainly didn’t. Doesn’t.  

Maybe it’s just his imagination but he’s almost certain he sees a flash of frustration in her eyes. Gone before its really even there. Huh, he’s just realised he’s now in Steve’s shoes, wanting to make everything right for this kid, the slight gut wrench at not being recognised. The only difference is, he knows what it’s like to be in her shoes too.

“I’m…” Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier? Or just her father?

“Designation: Winter Soldier, Patriarchal donor to the conception of the Little Winter subjects. Отец. Codename: Winter Soldier is to train the Juveniles in combat and assassination techniques. Designation: Little Winter Desyat, reporting and ready.” She starts to get out of the bed, but as she leans over to stand up she loses her balance and tips over towards Bucky. He catches her and she flinches at the contact, but lets him help her sit back on the bed.

“Izvinite Pozhaluista, Vladelets.” She lowers her eyes to the floor, submissively, preparing for punishment for her failure.

“Zapret, Malysh.” Don’t, kiddo.

She looks at him warily, she may not remember much, but she knows that’s unusual language for the soldier.

He can feel his own brow scrunch up in confusion and worry. How has this kid survived if she can’t even keep her balance getting out of bed?

Dr Nixon sees his concern and aiming to comfort explains: “She’s fine, Sergeant. Her inner ear is still trying to find its equilibrium. It’s not unheard of in electroshock patients to experience some balance issues after treatment, and combine that with the stasis. Well, we expect that it’s normal. We’re a little concerned that it’s lasting, but it does seem to be getting better.”

A memory returns to him. When he comes to again, he see’s Doctor Nixon watching him warily. It reminds him that there are people who aren’t used to seeing him remember things. Clint once explained why people got concerned; His face goes blank, blanker than usual, and his whole body goes lax and it’s amazing he manages to stay up right. Clint said it reminded him of a girl he knew in the foster system, she had epilepsy but not the full on fitting kind, it was more like she just stopped existing for a moment and then she’d just carry on, barely even notice she’d had a seizure.

“I remember, they made me run. As soon as I was warm enough to move, they made me run laps. Kept falling over, but I didn’t understand why, just thought my body had to learn how to move again.”

“They forced you to regain your balance through movement? That sounds… ineffective. Did you not feel dizzy or vertigo? Or feel nauseous?”

“I think it was more about making sure I knew who was in charge. If I didn’t, they would hurt me. And feeling nauseous and throwing up has been a constant part of my life since they started feeding me with a tube.”

“Present tense, Sergeant?”

He shrugs. “You read my file?”

“That would be a violation of your confidence considering I am not your doctor.”

He shrugs again. “You can, if you think it’ll help her, there's loads of cross references, apparently. But, they fucked me up. Took ‘em a bit to realise they shouldn’t freeze me while I’m digesting, hell first time they froze my they left my clothes on, they froze to my skin, when they took me out I was covered in ice burns. But now there’s shit wrong with my stomach and gut, lactose intolerant, couldn’t eat anything sweet for a long time, spice is still off the table. When I first got out I couldn’t even swallow properly, made it hard to eat. Got over that pretty quick but then I got to learn about how most foods made me sick, if I did keep it down I then had to learn how to deal with the other end of things. So, er, yeah.” He shrugs, a tight lips curling into a failed smile. “They fucked me up.”

“I’m sorry –“ Nixon starts.

“Don’t, please.” He doesn’t want pity, he’s learning to cope with who he is now and he doesn’t need people to remind him that his situation isn’t exactly normal.

Doctor Nixon take a breath before continuing. “You may be glad to hear that they didn’t mess up her diet. I guess a strictly controlled diet would hinder any long term infiltration and espionage missions they gave the kids. Especially if they couldn’t have much contact with their handlers.”

Bucky nods his agreement.

He only notices then that his eyes keep flicking back to the girl on the bed. She’s watching their conversation with the slightest amusement lighting her eyes.

Nixon also seems to notice then too. She smiles at both of them. “OK, a couple more questions, then I’ll let you and your dad get to know each other. How’s the dizziness?”

“Currently not performance hindering. Status unreliable.” There’s a slight pointedness to her tone, like she’s saying ‘I won’t know until you let me out of this bed.’

Nixon rolls her eyes a little, it’s either an old fight about bed rest, or as old as a fight can get in three days of consciousness, or a lost battle with the status reports. He knows Steve didn’t like it when he spoke like that, still speaks like that sometimes. Or maybe it’s both.

Nixon asks a small handful of questions about how the kid’s feeling before dismissing herself. ‘The kid’? The kid needs a name.

“Sergeant, if I may?” Nixon beckons him to follow so he follows the doc outside the room. “I’ll let you go back in in just a moment, just a few things.” He nods, there’s always a few things. “First things first, don’t expect her to be making any miraculous recoveries, but I expect you already know that.” He nods. “She’s physically fine, a small amount of damage to her brain, but Marz, that is, Doctor Endris, assures me it’s not as bad as it could be, her file states she was only wiped twice with three years between them. She had time to fully recover from the damage and we expect there shouldn’t be any lingering damage this time either. That being said, Marzian is concerned about her social and emotional development. Unlike with yourself, she doesn’t have a past life to remember and learn from, and those are things you learn when you’re a toddler, learning them later in life is hard, next to impossible. And there’s no evidence in her file to suggest that she’s been properly cared for, socially or emotionally, at any point in her life.”

“Neither was Natasha. Not properly, but she learnt enough in her training to be able to copy it, maybe not well, but well enough. She cares about things. She cares more than me about most things.”

Nixon smiles at him then, half sympathy, half hopeful. “Maybe there’s hope for then, but we won’t know until we can get her talking, more than just status reports, and maybe you can help with that. Given your history and shared circumstances, she may be more willing to open up to you. We’re just more handlers to her, she has no reason to trust us, but she might trust you.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Explain things to her. We’ve tried but why would she trust us? Just tell her about Hydra, the Initiative, her freedom. I don’t need to know Russian to know that whatever she keeps calling me, I’m not going to like.”

“She called you ‘Master’.” He spits the word and Nixon unconsciously takes a step back from the flash of raw fury that burns off him. He can see it on her face, how surprised she is at how well he can control his emotions if this is how he felt when she first said it. When he’d responded his tone was commanding but light, no hint of his rage.

“I knew it.” She quirks an eyebrow at the answer. “You should also give her a name.” She can’t help but crack a small smile at the terror in his eyes at that.

“I…” he shakes his head like her suggestion is the most ridiculous thing he’s heard, like he was asked to put his head in a sharks mouth.

She moves to put a hand on his arm but pulls it away, open and placating, at his slight flinch. “You’re her father, Sergeant, the closest thing she has and has ever had to a family. I read the file, don’t forget, I _know_ that you care for her like any father would. So if you only do one thing for her, do this.”

He nods reluctantly, but Marion knows that he will, she knows that he cares, saw a little of it today.

“Now get in there and get to know your daughter. I’ll be right out here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Отец (otets) - Father
> 
> Izvinite Pozhaluista - Lit, sorry please. Its a formal way of apologising, like saying "I am begging your forgiveness.
> 
> Vladelets - means Master/Owner
> 
> Zapret, Malysh - Don't kiddo. 
> 
> \-------------
> 
> Holy Zeus! It's taken seven chapters to introduce you to the kid! She's gonna be in this a lot more from now on. And we may even get her POV eventually! But thats the only other POV I have planned to use in this fic.


	8. The Proof I Can't Give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you say to a living weapon that is also your daughter?

What do you say to a living weapon that is also your daughter? ‘Hi, I’m your dad, sorry I didn’t get you out of Hydra when we first met but I was a little busy being a murderous puppet for them to care too much about them torturing children.’

He walks back in to the room and aims for a smile and misses by a mile, then just stands there awkwardly for a bit.

The kid is sat on the bed still, obediently doing nothing, just looking ahead at the blank walls.

What language should he speak with her? She was speaking Russian and English easily before, in the few words that she spoke. Russian might be too much like Hydra for her to believe anything he says, but English is not her native language even if she’s fluent, and Russian also has the bonus of being familiar between them. He thinks, Doc Endris always says do what feels natural and speaking to her in Russian is what he feels would be natural. But is that because he’s thinking in Russian today?

Gah, his brain is fucked!

He goes with Russian, less effort to translate in his head.

“Hel-Hi.” Typical, all that thought put in to what language to speak and he forgets to put any in to what to say to her.

“Hi,” he says again, like he can undo his stuttered hello. “Y-you remembered who I was but I thought I’d, er, introduce myself properly.” That faint light of amusement is back in her eye. Is she laughing at him? It’s really hard to keep meeting her eye, eye contact seems to be allusive today. “I’m James Barnes, but people call me Bucky. But you knew me as the Winter Soldier. I- I was a soldier in a war a really long time ago and I got captured, and Hydra hurt me, like they hurt you, like- like they _made_ _me_ hurt you sometimes. And they made me do things I didn’t want to, they made me forget who I was. And yeah, like you remembered they used my DNA to make you. But though I didn’t have a say in what they did with my DNA, I remembered that I cared about you and your siblings, I- I’d like a chance to care about you again.” _Breathe_ Bucky.

The girl had looked away from him at some point, but when she looks back there’s a question in her eye. “Siblings.” There’s no intonation to say whether she meant it to be a question or a statement, but Bucky explains to her regardless.

“Yeah. You- I don’t remember much, they made me forget again, they had to make me forget over and over. But, I remember some and I read your file, to help me remember some more. Er, you had three brothers and three sisters, but they… they died. There’s only you now. And me. Do you remember them?” She pauses before she nods. A slight movement that slowly builds with confidence.

“I killed them.” She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin likes she’s proud of that fact. Bucky is about to argue or shout or something when there’s a slight wobble to her chin and she adds, “I won.”

It’s not untrue that she was forced to finish off one of her brothers, and maybe she’s not actually remembering that, Hydra did make them fight each other, he’d call it sparring except the knives and guns were real and so was the blood.

He remembers that as they grew and learnt, they worked well as a team, they even managed to overwhelm him sometimes too, and then later, even one on one they became more and more evenly matched.

“Did you want to hurt them?” he asks. He needs to know.

“They were weak. They should have been stronger.”

“Maybe.” He concedes. “But did you _want_ to hurt them?”

“It was ordered. I obeyed.”

“Yes, but did you _want_ to? Did you enjoy hurting your siblings?” If she says yes them maybe Endris and Hill are right, maybe she can’t be helped, maybe it would have been better to leave her frozen. He shudders at the thought. No one deserves that. If he could be helped then so can she.

She’s clearly struggling with the idea of ‘want’, or admitting to not wanting to do something. He knows better than most that while wanting something can be hard, not liking something is easy. The hard part about not liking something is admitting that you don’t like it.

“We’re safe here, you can tell me if you didn’t.”

“I didn’t want to, but they ordered it. I had to.” Maybe it’s just his imagination but he thinks he can hear a distressed undertone to her words. The first hints that maybe, just maybe, she can recover from this.

“I know, Malysh.” For the second time today her eyes narrow warily. He can’t stop himself before he narrows his own eyes and asks, “What?”

“The Winter Soldier is malfunctioning. The Soldier should submit to maintenance.”

He closes his eyes and takes a moment to breathe. He should have predicted this, he guesses. The Winter Soldier was often kept out of cryo for up to a month at a time to train the kids, it makes sense that they would have been taught to recognise whenever he was getting ‘erratic’. It only took a week, maybe two, before the memories started filtering in.

“About that, kid. I know the docs have tried explaining to you, but they aren’t lying about Hydra. They’re gone, there’s just a few splinter groups left and we’re working to eliminate them completely.”

“The masters are endless. Cut off one head, two more will take its place. They cannot be killed.”

“No, not endless. They’re like cockroaches, hard to kill but not impossible. We’ve been at it for three years, and we’ll probably be at it a few more but-“ He cuts himself off when he sees the scared confusion written plainly across her face. Her breathing is starting to pick up.

“Three? But…” She’s starting to hyperventilate, the air rushing noisily in and out of her lungs but she’s not getting any oxygen.

Well done, Bucky, you have just fucked up big time. She was only ever actually frozen the once. She may have been put in the chamber as punishment, for her wrongs or his, but Hydra never actually froze the kids, just lowered the temperature to freezing. She’s never lost time like this.

And just to make everything worse, her panic is making him panic. He bangs on the wall in hopes of summoning the doc back without leaving and the noise makes her flinch hard and her breathing to catch for so long he’s almost scared she managed to swallow her tongue or something before she starts gasping again, worse than before.

He knows he’s not breathing properly but he can’t convince his lungs to catch enough breath to tell her to breathe, to show her like Sam showed him.

Nixon comes bursting in, the door swinging into the wall with a crash which this time makes them both flinch hard. He backs off to the wall behind him letting his knees buckle and drop him to the floor. The nurse from earlier had followed the doctor in and seeing that it’s just a panic attack, if there’s anything ‘just’ about it, and that Nixon has it handled, he comes around the bed towards Bucky, palms raised and empty to show he means no harm.

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes of Nixon and the kid, but he follows the nurses instructions to breathe, lets his encouragements soothe him while Nixon does the same for his daughter.

Nixon gave her an oxygen mask, and Bucky’s counting every breath that condenses inside it. Once it finally evens out to a steady pace, he pushes himself to standing. The nurse had left when his own breathing had started to level out and he denied the mask and other comforts the Nurse was offering. He didn’t need a frigging blanket or water, he needed to apologise, to beg on his knees until she forgave him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so- really sorry. I- I thought you knew, I thought they’d told you. I’m sorry.”

The kid is just watching him warily again. Her eyes are still a little wild with panic.

It’s Nixon that speaks, though. “We were waiting until we thought she was ready to know. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, and we can help you acclimatise if you need it. But you should try and get some rest for now.”

Nixon looks over the readings on the monitor, and seemingly finding everything satisfactory, turns off the oxygen at the wall. “You shouldn’t need this anymore. Your O2 uptake is quite remarkable, you must have some fierce lungs.” She takes the mask and the clip from her finger and stores everything away with practiced ease. She’s making to leave when she pauses at the door. “Sergeant, don’t keep her up too long, she’s still recovering from everything else as well, and needs to rest. You too, I would wager, Doctors orders.” And then she’s gone, door shutting behind her with a quiet click.

“I’m sorry, really I…” a thought hits him then. “You panicked when I said… but how do you know you were… for three years? Do you remember something?”

She nods, a small barely there movement. “January thirteenth two-thousand-and-fourteen. Winter Soldier and Little Winter ordered to eliminate Noah Campbell, Canadian World Security Councillor. American Head said that he was close to discovering Hydra at a critical time, Project Insight was almost complete. End-mission protocol changed, American Head said Hydra had to be ready, all resources had to go in to the project. They made me cold.”

“American Head? Peirce? He’s dead. Captain America stopped Project Insight and his team took down the Helicarriers and exposed Hydra to the world. I promise you that they’re gone, or as good as. Do you believe me?”

The kid remained silent, her blank mask pulled back in place. He guesses that it’s hard to believe that all you’ve ever known is gone, especially without proof.

“How about I let you get some sleep, and I’ll come back tomorrow with evidence?”

There’s a slight side wards incline of her head, like a shrug without using her shoulders. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy double chapter, Batman!! 
> 
> This chapter and the previous were originally a really long chapter but I split it for reasons.   
> it does make this one that little bit shorter but its no shorter than the shortest chapter so far.


	9. Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 'family dinner' that night. A gathering of all the available Avengers and the significant few others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late, so, so late!! I'm sorry people, my normal Sunday upload was frown off track by a hike of all things! up at the ass crack of dawn and dead to the world when i got back. So here it is. (Shuffles over and throws it at you before running away to hide.)
> 
> If you don't dig the eating disorder stuff, this chapter may not be for you. It's not a major theme, just mentioned, but heads up.

It’s ‘family dinner’ that night. A gathering of all the available Avengers and the significant few others. That being said the only non-avenger at the table is Pepper Potts but Stark Industries are a major benefactor to the Initiative and she helps with PR and legal things whenever she’s not too busy running a company, so she’s effectively part of the team anyway.

Clint and Scott are spending some much deserved time with their families, leaving Bucky and Steve to look after Clint’s dog. It might be called either Pizza Dog or Lucky, Bucky isn’t actually sure. Clint isn’t allowed to take the dog back to Iowa with him, other than the fact that the Initiative won’t let him take the dog on the jet they loan him for easy scrambling, Laura is apparently allergic to dogs.

Thor and Jane are in Asgard doing… something important probably. And no one has really heard much from that Spider kid since the whole everybody trying to kill each other thing. And T’Challa is literally a king and has a country to run.

Other than the accounted for absentees, everyone is here. Oh, and Darcy, She misses Jane and Selvig is doing science so someone, probably Steve, invited her for family dinner. But not only does she work at the Initiative, she also lives in the tower, so it’s kind of a given that she’d probably be around anyway.

Family Dinner is always a home cooked (if Starks chef’s count as home cooked) help yourself banquet. There’s a selection of meats, they probably cooked a whole pig to get this much pork. There’s also pie’s and quiches and salads and cakes. Most of it he can’t actually eat, but it still awes him to see that much food. Bucky is pretty sure that at one family dinner with the whole gang, there is probably more food available then he and Steve saw in a year back in the 30’s, and there’s only ever scraps left.

The meal it’s self is lively and animated, everybody participating in the conversation. Mostly. Bucky still gets overwhelmed sometimes by the amount of noise everyone can make, and he prefers to just sit back and watch when he does. Wanda and Vision are doing their weird ‘I’ll show you what it tastes like with my brain’ even though the robot is more than capable of eating it for himself. Needs to in fact, being part organic. Maybe he can’t taste it, or it tastes different? Or maybe they’re just fucking weird.

After dinner, Bucky settles down with his usual totally scrummy, nutritional powder enhanced smoothie! They’re gross and he hates them but with all his dietary limitations he can’t eat enough real food to keep up with his metabolism. He’s joined by Sam and Steve, still arguing about whatever movie it was again that Sam thinks is amazing and Steve hated cos it was historically utter bollocks.

“I was there Sam! Maybe I’ll concede that the story is kinda passable but everything else was just ridiculous. Can we just accept that you liked it and I didn’t? We’ve been arguing over this for weeks.”

Sam screws up his face and collapses on to the couch in response, but his lack of continued argument means that he’s letting it drop. For now at least.

“So I heard you went to go see the kid. How’d it go?” Sam layers in that calming councillor tone when he asks, letting Bucky know if he needs to _talk_ about it he’s willing to help. Steve immediately turns his attention around to Darcy, giving them some semblance of privacy for this conversation. Clearly they’ve talked about this before.

Bucky winces, he knows it. He can’t always tell what his face is doing, if it’s doing anything at all, but this he knows.

“That bad huh?”

“I made her have a panic attack. Doctor Nixon had to give her oxygen.”

“So she’s got some emotional capabilities?” This time it’s Sam who winces. “Sorry, Hill invited me to sit in on a chat with the docs about her. Most of doc Endris’s concern is in whether she has any emotional and social capabilities.”

Bucky’s nodding in understanding, this evening eye contact is being elusive so he looks at his knees while he talks. “Doctor Nixon said something similar earlier. Said she might not have learnt those properly as a kid and it’d almost impossible for her to do it now. But the whole point of the kids was to do the bits I couldn’t.” He lifts his face up, though still keeping his eyes on his knees. Sam understands that sometimes he just can’t look. “They were made to infiltrate, to be able to pass as human even if they never really were. They were meant to be like Natasha, so unless Hydra fucked up then they should be able to- to feel things, even if what they feel isn’t exactly right, or- or whole.”

“No, you’re right, I said so too. In order to mimic there has to be at least an understanding, and I don’t think she’s a psychopath. There’s enough evidence in the file that suggests that the kids felt empathy, they cared about each other, and there was nothing to gain from pretending.” Sam shifts in his seat, and even though Bucky is looking at his knees, he can see enough of Sam’s body language to read it as open and relaxed. He’s fully shifted into councillor mode and is now unconsciously exuding calm in waves. “Doc Endris’s concern isn’t really in that she doesn’t know _anything_ about compassion or empathy, it’s given that she’ll be able to recognise emotions in others, that’s part of being a spy, what he’s concerned about is if she’ll be able to recognise those emotions in herself, or feel complex emotion at all. It’s hard to explain without going in to the mumbo jumbo.” He flaps his hand a little. “What I’m saying is, she might be emotionally stunted. She might not ever realise her own trauma, or understand that what Hydra did to her was wrong and why. She may learn to adapt to her new environment, but she might not be able to healthily process her old one.”

After Sam’s long winded explanation his throat is dry, he lifts his glass to his lips to find it empty. Bucky kindly offers a sip of his smoothie, keeping a straight face until Sam has committed to the act. Bucky can’t help but laugh his silent chuckle at Sam’s face twisted in disgust.

“Eugh, god, what is in that?!” Sam managed to swallow but now he’s sticking his tongue out like he can remove the taste with air. Steve, who had turned to talk with Darcy, absently rubs Sam’s back while he gags and splutters.

“Nutritional supplement powder, and supposedly apples, but the powder overpowers everything.”

“I don’t know how you can drink those things every day.”

“Either I drink these or I find some other why to get 15 thousand calories a day with my limited diet choices and fucked up guts, or I slowly starve. I chose the gross ass smoothies. Drinking them is the better alternative to the feeding tube my doc threatened me with, don’t want to do that again.”

“You are a stronger man then me, my friend.” He sticks his tongue out again. “And 15 K? Seriously?”

“The downsides of being a super soldier. Gotta eat shit tons just to keep up with the metabolism. I could get by on 10 thousand if I didn’t need to train pretty much every day to keep up my fitness, but super soldier metabolism drops the muscle mass quicker too.”

“Bummer.”

Bucky tells his eyebrows to rise in agreement as he downs the last of the smoothie in one breath.

Sam fetches himself and Bucky water before he goes straight back to their original conversation. “So other than questionable emotional comprehension, how was she?”

“She’s remembering quicker than I thought would be possible. It’s been no more than three, four days for her since she was wiped, but she’s already remembering things in detail. Hydra haven’t fucked with her brain as much as mine so maybe this is a normal rate of healing if your brain doesn’t have to dig through layers of scar tissue first. She panicked cos I let slip she’d been on ice for three years, or, I said Hydra got wiped out three years ago, and she remembered her last mission before they froze her. She knew the date which is more than I ever knew. January 13th 20 14. They told her the date when she woke up.”

“Maybe it’s good she’s remembering quickly? The more she remembers the more we can help her understand what happened to her.” Sam shrugs and quirks an eyebrow and relaxes back a little. “But what do I know, I’m not trained to deal with this kind of thing. Most of my guys, worst they’ve got is thinking a car backfiring is gun fire.” He sighs. “Used to be, the worst thing I’ve ever dreamt about was watching Riley fall, but now, I dream about things you’ve told me. Or Steve. Or hell, even Stark has me caring about what he’s said.” He laughs.

“’You shouldn’t council friends.’ You said that to Steve when he asked you to talk to me. We’d barely even been alone since I kicked you off a helicarrier, but you still wanted to be my friend. But that’s what you do now.”

“That’s cos I care about you guys too much to let you get away with not talking about what we do and see every time we assemble.” Even though Bucky wasn’t looking Sam in the eye, he still ducked his head away and hid his smile. This kid is supposed to be a world class assassin, he shouldn’t be able to look so cute when he’s embarrassed. Sam manages to hold back a chuckle, but he can’t stop the smile from curling his lips.

Sam lets that linger between them for a moment before his mind unavoidably goes back to what they were talking about before, and isn’t that a mood killer. He sighs and lets his shoulders drop briefly.

“But, about the kid. Maybe it’s good if she’s remembering quickly, maybe it isn’t, we just have to deal with what comes as it comes. Just stay with her, help her through this.”

Bucky’s smile fades, replaced by a determined expression, and he nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naw Bucky, you little shit. I am totally behind you though, if you gotta eat the gross shit then your team mates should at least try the gross shit. 
> 
> Also I hope I didn't go over board on Sam's long psych ramble, or get too intense there, I just wanted to get across that every one thinks the kid is going to be fucked up, which is to be expected, but no one really knows how fucked up she'll be. 
> 
> I also feel like this chapter is repetitive, just a repeat of earlier chapters but, i also felt it to be necessary, so i don't even know. 
> 
> Also giving you a heads up here, if you don't like medical procedures, descriptions of torture, or clinical language than you might want to stop reading now because that's the entirety of the next chapter, and future chapters of this story.


	10. Memory Manipulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WS: 482 - Cognitive Manipulation.  
> The subject is resistant to our efforts at thought reformation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I will admit that I just forgot to upload this week. Bad Puppy.  
> I wasn't even busy, I killed things on COD and went to the gym and that was like it.  
> But I'm posting it now. 
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, IF YOU DON'T LIKE MEDICAL PROCEDURES OR CLINICAL LANGUAGE OR TORTURE THEN DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT READ THIS.

> WS: 482 – Cognitive Manipulation
> 
> The subject is resistant to our attempts at thought reformation, though he has become docile in his handling after being presented with evidence of Captain America’s death, he is yet to become compliant. I have been in communication with a new recruit, a Neurologist. We have agreed that the removal of memory of the subject’s previous life would be beneficial in our work, and he suggests a modified electro-shock treatment. Patients who receive common EST will almost always experience retrograde amnesia, with a modified treatment aimed solely at the memory centres of the brain, the Neurologist believes that we will be able to affect the subject’s memories. A high powered and constant current of sine-waves targeted at the Hippocampus and Temporal Lobes should result in autobiographical amnesia. The complications arise in the proximity of the Hippocampus to the Amygdalae and the Thalamus which need to remain intact. Links between behavioural conditioning and the Amygdalae have been found, and for the Russian’s conditioning to be successful and remain undamaged this area must also remain so. The Thalamus, or specifically the Basal Ganglia are linked to learning and motor control, and most importantly unconscious motor processes, or muscle memory.  
>    
>  We have applied relatively low level voltage to the subject’s brain and have been rewarded with some mild successes. We are beginning experiments in increasing the voltage. The Highest voltage used in commercial EST treatments is 450 volts. We have started with 400 volts with an exposure of 30 seconds of continuous current. There have been effects with immediate retrograde memory, and have noted some anterograde amnesia, but long term memory has not been affected.
> 
> 700 volts – experiments are ongoing.
> 
> 1015 volts – experiments are ongoing.
> 
> The subjects enhanced healing capabilities are rendering any affectations temporary. Experimentation will continue.  
>    
>  Further investigation in to affecting the subject’s memory have found the long term memory was mildly disturbed at 3220 volts with an exposure of two minutes. While recall of past events is hazy there is still some recognition in visual and oral triggers, and complete recollection with olfactory triggers. . We have amended our targeted areas to include the Amygdala in attempts to affect emotional memory. Our efforts will continue.  
>  However I would like to note that previous observations of anterograde amnesia have resulted in the subject’s inability to recall all post-treatment procedures. The subject has admitted to having no memory from before waking again in his cell hours after the treatment finished. The subject is increasingly becoming non-compliant the more he realises that his memory is being affected.  
>    
>  A further increase to 8075 volts and an exposure of three minutes 15 seconds has successfully removed recognition of previous memory triggers. Even olfactory, the strongest sense memory, has been effected. Though we have successfully greatly affected long term memory, the subject still retains some memories of his previous life. Further sessions with perhaps some increases in voltage should fully remove all long term memories.  
>    
>  After three further EST treatments with a voltage increase to 9055 volts and an exposure increase to three minutes thirty seconds. We believe we have successfully completely disturbed the subject’s long term memory. We have no disillusions that we have completely ‘removed’ the subject’s memories, there is always the possibility of his enhanced healing capabilities repairing the damaged connections. Therefore, continuous treatments will be necessary to prevent recall.  
>    
>  Update: Maintenance treatments are effective at the lessened amount of 5365 volts. Small changes to the targeted areas include the avoidance of the Hippocampus, the Amygdala, and the new target of the Frontal Lobe – linked with short term memory and personality. However, treatment to the Frontal Lobe should only be carried out when absolutely necessary as the area is also responsible for voluntary movement, extensive damage to the Precentral Gyrus can lead to contralateral or bilateral paralysis. Though there is evidence that the subject’s brain is able to recover and repair some damage, it would be preferable to not find out just how effective the subject’s healing abilities are.  
>    
>  Further update: A low level brief-pulse current of 30-50 volts aimed at the Hippocampus, Superior Temporal Gyrus, Inferior Frontal Gyrus and Middle Temporal Gyrus, will stimulate the comprehension and learning of new languages. We have successfully ‘implanted’ German to a fluent level in only nine weeks. It should be noted that the subject be permitted sleep for a least one full REM cycle every 42 hours for optimum recollection.

 

It’s weird. Bucky was never able to read his file before, just seeing Steve read it always made him panic or remember something bad and go away in his head. But now there’s the kid to think of, he was more curious than scared when he saw it on the coffee table, where Steve has been rereading it, comparing and cross referencing his file with the Little Winter file. And sure, he’s remembering things, he remembers how terrifying it was to realise that Hydra were manipulating his memories, making him forget Steve, making him barely able to remember that there was anything other than the torture and the cold. But now, with the kid, he’s just glad that she didn’t have to slowly forget, driven half mad by the desperate need to remember the sequence; Sergeant Barnes, John? James? Joseph? B? D? 325- 32… 32557… 3…? Sergeant Barney Jay 52… 7…

She had her memories, and then she didn’t. Clean, simple. She didn’t have to suffer while they figured out what to do.

His blood is starting to boil and he’s so angry, he wishes Steve was here so they could fight or have sex or fight then sex. But he’d left him talking to Darcy on the communal floor when the people got too much. The worst part is he doesn’t know why he’s angry. Is he jealous, does he wish that she did slowly forget until she couldn’t remember that she was even forgetting something? Or is he angry that they wiped her in the first place? Or a second time even after proving the first wipe was ultimately ineffective. Or is he angry because they wiped him? Doc Endris, his psychiatrist, says that it’s normal, healthy even, to be angry about what was done to him, but he hasn’t felt that yet. Angry that he forgot Steve, yes, but more at himself, that he could ever forget Steve.

Part of him understands that he didn’t have a choice, but Steve should have been so important to him, his brain should have been sculpted and carved with the memory of that little punk. He understands now though, that there really was no choice, a quick google search about the parts of his brain mentioned tells him that they made him unable to feel the emotional attachment of his memories, of Steve, and once he’d lost semantic understanding of what Steve meant to him, there was nothing to keep the memories there. The Amygdala isn’t just there for the inconvenient ability to condition people to a stimulus, it’s there for understanding emotions. They burned out his temporal lobes because that’s where your autobiographical memories are. He had no choice and he gets that now. But he’s still angry at something and he feels like he shouldn’t be.

Either way, whether it’s his treatment or hers that he’s angry at, it doesn’t change the fact that with his memories, he is Bucky Barnes now, but with or without her memories, the kid is the Little Winter either way. What right does he have to be playing father to the Winter Soldier’s daughter?

He drops the file, letting it slap against the coffee table, and decides that he really could do with hitting something. He decides to head down to the gym.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this chapter, i like the language and the descriptions. I spent literally hours looking up brain functions and reasoning with my self the effects of EST on the serum.  
> Please let me know if my wiki based knowledge is bullshit.
> 
> Also please let me know if you think this chapter ups the rating, its currently still marked as teen appropriate, but my friend said it was kinda graphic, but then again she only really seems to likes fluff.
> 
> If you wanna find me i exist on tumblr at excitablepuppy.tumblr.com


	11. Talk To Me Softly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bucky gets back, Steve is already in bed, though he’s still up and drawing.

When Bucky gets back, Steve is already in bed, though he’s still up and drawing. Bucky sneaks a glance at the sketch while he leans over to kiss Steve hello. It’s him, laying waste to Stark’s cryo-chamber. Steve has always been able to see beauty in the weirdest things, picture-Bucky’s expression is flat, but somehow the drawing isn’t expressionless, there’s a light in his eye and a power in the dynamic of his movement. It’s beautiful, because it’s what Steve saw, but it’s creepy as fuck that he chose this of all things to draw.

Without saying anything, Bucky leaves to shower off the sweat and heat of his work out. When he comes out, a towel around his hips and another draped over his shoulders catching the drips from his hair. He rubs off the last of the wet and pulls on clean shorts, grabbing his comb before dropping on to the bed, facing away from Steve. He starts to drag the comb through his hair with a little less care then perhaps he should. There’s still the embers of his anger sitting hot in his stomach and he’s not in the mood to care if he’s ripping clumps of his hair out. He relents when Steve places a warm hand on his shoulder, handing over the comb to his waiting other hand. Steve carefully runs the comb through his still long hair for a minute before finally asking, “What’s wrong?”

Being asked finally douses the last embers of his anger and his slumps into Steve’s careful touches.

“I don’t even know. I- I read some more of the files, and I…” he sighs. “They wiped her, again I mean, even though they knew it wouldn’t last, she’d heal again. And I read what they did to, uh, to me, in the beginning. And…” he huffs in frustration. “I don’t know, something made me angry, or everything together.”

“I get it. I get angry reading those files, too. That people could even think of doing what they did, and that they did it to you, and to children as well.”

Bucky shakes his head minutely, “I think I’m jealous of her.” Steve’s hands stop for the briefest of moments before continuing their ministrations. “I remembered, they couldn’t wipe my memories all at once, and- an’ I was scared, I knew I’d forgot something, but I couldn’t remember, it took so long for them to make me forget everything. But the kid, she had her memories, an’ then she didn’t, she didn’t have to be scared.”

“That- makes sense.” Bucky turns to face Steve, brow furrowed in questions. “They did something horrible to you. And, even though they did the same thing to her in the end, she didn’t have to suffer like you.” Steve cups his hand over Bucky’s cheek, rubbing soft strokes with his thumb. Bucky leans in to the touch like he’s still starved for it. “You’re not a bad person for thinking like that. You just- nobody wants to know that they’re the only person to have experienced something. I- aw, Buck you know I’m bad at this.”

“I know, thank you, Stevie.” He brushes his lips against Steve’s palm, a small smiling stretching his lips.

“I heard you talking with Sam, earlier. You really think she’ll be OK like Natasha?”

He nods slowly. “She has to be. I need her to be.”

Steve rubs the towel over the ends of Bucky’s hair one last time, pulling the last of the water from the strands.

“Well, her parents are you and Tasha, I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Steve smiles, tossing the towel in the hamper and collapsing spread eagle on the bed. “Come on, I’m pooped.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve. “Really? ‘pooped?’ what are you, ten?” he doesn’t resist when Steve wraps his arms around him and pulls him down onto the bed beside him.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry, It has been a long week and now I am oh so very tired, sergeant, and would like to sleep.” Steve over annunciates every syllable in a bad English accent.

“Peggy would shoot you for that accent.” Bucky says pulling the sheets over them and curling in to Steve’s side.

“I know, please don’t tell her.” Steve says, before leaning over to click the lights off.

“I won’t.” They lay in comfortable silence for a while, the dark a comforting blanket tempting them down in to sleep. “Steve?”

“Mph?”

“The kid needs a name.”

“You thought of any?”

He shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Mm, OK. Think tomorrow, sleep now.” Steve pulls him tighter against his chest, nuzzling in to the back of his neck. It doesn’t take much longer for his breathing to even out in to sleep, leaving Bucky alone in the dark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it still late if I haven't slept yet?
> 
> My laptop has not been cooperating with me lately, so that's part of why this is late. The other part is I keep getting distracted by my fitness training and shiny things. 
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter is short, but it just felt right to leave it there, rather than stretch it out. 
> 
> To make up for it; DOUBLE CHAPTER WEEK!!


	12. Named For The Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky, surprisingly, slept pretty well last night, and he woke this morning feeling, well not like a spring daisy, he didn’t cool down after last night’s punchy workout, and he’s feeling it now

Bucky, surprisingly, slept pretty well last night, and he woke this morning feeling, well not like a spring daisy, he didn’t cool down after last night’s punchy workout, and he’s feeling it now. The muscles that support his left arm are tight and painful, straining against the weight.

He woke up late, and alone, Steve and Sam already gone for their morning run without him. He doesn’t mind, they’re both in agreement to leave him be whenever his brain and body agree that sleep is good.

He walks in to the common floor kitchen to find Natasha expertly using Stark’s overcomplicated coffee maker that Bucky still hasn’t been able to figure out, a slice of toast hanging artfully from her lips.

“[What do you think of Ekaterina?]” He asks, falling easily into Russian today, to compliment the name.

“I think it’s a name and I don’t know anyone who owns it.” She counters in English.

“For the kid?”

“I think I told you I don’t want to be that involved in her life. I can’t be a mother to a kid who was born when I was fourteen. I can’t be a mother at all and I’m fine with that.”

“I was just asking because you know more about the culture and… stuff. Is it a good name?”

Natasha levels him with an assessing glare before sighing and answering.

“It’s alright I guess, kind of common but not too Jane Smith. Has it’s equivalents in a lot of other languages.” She’s got the coffee brewing, now she just has to wait.

“Are equivalents really that important?”

“For a spy, yes. Makes it easier to change your name, change your identity.” She shrugs, taking another bite of her toast.

“Do you like it?” he asks, suddenly finding the counter very interesting. When she doesn’t answer he adds. “I’m not asking you to be the deciding vote. I like it, and I asked Steve and he likes it, but all he knows about Russia is that it’s cold and the saying ‘all we have is our winter.’” He shrugs sheepishly and goes back to inspecting the side to avoid the daggers Natasha is probably staring at him.

“Ekaterina Zimnijnovna? Or Soldatovna?” Bucky turns in time to see a playful smile tug at Natasha’s lips before she schools her features back into the mask she wears, even at the tower.

“What?” he blinks.

“She’s the Winter Soldier’s daughter. So what’s her patronym?”

“Uhh?” Natasha actually laughs at the blank confusion on Bucky’s face then. It’s a light and cheerful sound but there’s also something a little sad about it. Like slow sleigh bells.

“It’s a naming convention, Russian surnames are the name of the father. Like Alianovna means daughter of Alian. Romanova is my family name, but in Russia I’d introduce myself as Alionovna over Romanova, and not just because of the connotations Romanova has. If you’re naming her like she’s Russian then she needs a patronym, too.” She pours two cups of coffee and hands one to Bucky. “Though ‘daughter of Winter’ can’t really be a patronym when it’s a codename not your name.”

“But he- I- I didn’t have a name. That would have been too… human.” He bares his teeth and then falters. “Except Lukin… called me… Vanya…” he trails off, physically shrinking away from the memories bombarding him.

“Lukin was a twisted son of a bitch,” She spits out, fighting back memories of her own. “But he was also the only one who made us feel like anything more than tools. Embrace what he gave you, the same as you want to with the daughter he gave you. You want to play father to the Winter Soldier’s kid, then you need to stop living in denial about what they did to you and learn to deal with it.” She takes a sip of her coffee, picks up her stack of toast and walks out, leaving Bucky standing stunned for a moment before he follows her out.

“Wait. What’s- What’s Daughter of Vanya?” he asks, leaning around the door frame like it can protect him from the memory of the name playing in his ears.

“When Natasha looks back at him, Bucky is sure he can see the shadow of surprise dancing across her eyes.

“Ivanovna.” She watches as he processes for a second, feeling it out soundlessly, then he nods and smiles sadly.

“Thank you, Natalia.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE CHAPTER WEEK
> 
> Another short one, sorry.   
> \---
> 
> I feel like that at 12 chapters in, you might be wondering some about who the feck ExcitablePuppy is.   
> Well this crazy kid is in the process of getting fit for the army, with the aim of becoming an Intelligence Linguist.   
> The hardest part about getting fit is running, I live on a massive hill, there is no where really that's flat, so I decided the best way to get fit is to run the 1.2 miles up the hill to the park run around in the sludge for a bit then run back down. It's awful, its cold, it's sludgy, my shins and calves hate me, yet I feel amazing.   
> It's an amazing feeling to get up there quicker than yesterday, to lift more than last time. It's great (even if it's annoying and expensive) to be dropping a dress size every few weeks. Its awesome to be able to look back and think, when i clicked send on that application in January, I was lazy, unfit, and with no realistic plans for my future, (sadly full time Viking isn't a thing) and now, even if I chicken out or don't pass assessment, at least I'm fit, at least i'm more confident. I definitely recommend (and so does my 55 year old mother) following the army fitness routine (get the app! 100% army fit) because even if you can't or don't have time to do an hour four times a week, at least you're doing something, and it talks you through everything.   
> This is really starting to sound like one of those RBA adverts, so i'll leave it there, though not without first being really cheesy and saying if you wanna, travel the world, learn new skills and be all you can be, join the armed forces.   
> At least you'll be ready for the Zombie Apocalypse.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his daily workout, Bucky goes back to Medical, this time armed with his tablet and internet access.

After his daily workout, Bucky goes back to Medical, this time armed with his tablet and internet access. When he checks in at the nurses’ station, Doctor Nixon is sat there, filling out paperwork.

“Sergeant, welcome back. Doctor Endris is with her at the moment, I don’t think they’ll be much longer, though.” She smiles. Her hazel eyes are warm, her honey blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She rolls her eyes. “I’ve been a doctor for twenty years, yet I still forget just how much paperwork is involved in medicine. Notes, procedure reports, medical reports, discharge reports and written information for the patient.”

“Being an Avenger isn’t much better; endless reports. Hill wants a side by side with the comms transcript, Steve wants to know what went wrong and why, and how could we improve, and the cops and psychs want to know what kind of crazy they’re dealing with. Then I’ve gotta log my ammo usage and request more if I need it. And after all that I gotta take the armour plates out my uniform before I give it to the cleaners because they won’t clean it with the plates in or removes them themselves. Oh and then I gotta talk to Endris, cos he doesn’t trust me to have feelings about everything, or whatever.”

“I do not envy you. You get to have all the fun before your paperwork, meanwhile I have spent the day dealing with a guy who got buried under his work. Literally, brought a shelf down on himself. I’ve gone from the excitement of army medicine to a concussion caused by paperwork.” She raises her eyebrows in a ‘can you believe it’ gesture.

“Thrilling.” Bucky agrees flatly.

“Quite.” Nixon rolls her eyes dramatically before composing herself. “No, this is what I wanted. Being an army doctor has been the highlight of my career, but I’m getting old, I’m going to be 53 in the autumn, its time to start slowing down, I think.”

Bucky raises his brows at the mention of her age.

“What?”

“You don’t look it. Your age, I mean.”

Nixon smiles. “You are a charmer, Sergeant.”

He shrugs. “It’s true.”

“What about yourself? You ever thought about slowing down, or are you still too young for that?”

Bucky snorts at that. “Young. I don’t even know how old I am.”

Nixon made an aborted movement to touch his arm, settling for just a thin smile instead.

“I was born in 1917, I turned 28 the first year Hydra had me.” He barks out a hollow laugh. “I remember singing happy birthday to myself for a week after someone let slip it was March. I know Bruce and Tony had a go of figuring out how old I was. From what they could gather from the file they guessed at 33-34. But that doesn’t include any of the time I spent with kids. So with that, I dunno, maybe somewhere close to 37. Or maybe I’m 40, or maybe they never did freeze me and I’m 100 like I should be. I feel it, sometimes.” He laughs again.

“Well, you’re looking good for centenarian.” Nixon laughs, a little more genuine that Bucky’s. “But seriously, Sergeant. You have no obligations to keep fighting if you don’t want to. You’ve been fighting all your life, people will understand if you need to stop and take care of yourself instead.”

“I think if I stopped I would go fully off my rocker with boredom.”

Nixon looked as though she was about to say something about his remark, but it was then that Doctor Endris walked out of the kid’s room. He sees Bucky and walks over with a smile on his lips and intention in his eyes, carrying the leather case that is always by his feet in their sessions. 

“Ah, James, I do think perhaps we should talk at some time, about recent developments.” Doctor Marzian Endris was a loyal SHIELD agent, recruited as a fresh faced young psychiatrist in Germany, he now continues his loyal service with the new Avengers Initiative and is Bucky’s primary head shrink. They meet every week on a Thursday morning, though Bucky was in Russia last Thursday, and the week before they’d been called out on a mission that had turned out to be a false alarm. “Please try to attend tomorrow’s session.”

He nods curtly. So long as the world isn’t about to end he has no excuse to miss it, and besides he’s man enough to admit that these sessions are maybe helpful, despite his reservations at first. “How is she?”

Endris looks at Bucky assessingly for a moment. That’s the only part Bucky dislikes about the man, he doesn’t always believe that Bucky can handle things as they are, he tries to sugar coat and coddle until Bucky demands truth, honesty. “As well as one could hope, in the circumstances. Though I have my ideas, it is too early to start diagnosing anything. I will be meeting with her every day for some time to come. She is cooperative, though she does not seem to enjoy my questions.”

Bucky bites his lower lip before answering, “Weapons don’t get asked questions. They have orders and they follow them.”

“I understand, James. She seems not to enjoy my questions, but she answers most willingly.” He swaps the leather case to his left hand and offers his hand for Bucky to shake. This is something they’ve been working on, friendly touch with people other than Steve. For whatever reason, he trusts Steve explicitly, but he still expects pain from everyone else. He curls his own hand in to a fist before relaxing and taking his hand. Before Bucky even has chance to register the warmth of Endris’ hand, he’s letting go again and leaving.

 _See, you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you_ , the asshole logical part of his brain supplies.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda just filler, but i like it and i think it sets up a little more about the kind of character i intend Bucky to be.


	14. What's In A Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you believe me?” he asks in Russian.

“Do you believe me?” he asks in Russian. After 45 minutes of explaining DC and the beginning of the end for Hydra as well as showing footage of the event and a large amount of Hydra’s leaked files, the kid is maintaining her stubborn view that Hydra is without end.

She looks at him, and he could arguably say she looks apologetic.

“Yeah you’re right, this is like trying to tell a dog the world has colour.” He relents. “Do you wanna believe me?”

Again she just watches him, blankly.

“You can just nod you head for yes if you don’t think you can say it out loud.” He demonstrates the gesture, he remembers some words being foreign to him, even things that should be Basic English. His name for one, and Steve saying ‘I’m sorry’ over and over for every little thing. Even two year olds know what ‘sorry’ is, but to him it was just a noise the captain kept making at him until he remembered. Then he was saying it just as much to Steve, for shouting at him for saying it, for hurting him, for falling, for being weak, for giving in to Hydra, for killing.

They’re in agreement that neither of them is allowed to say the word for anything that happened prior to Bucky’s trial.

There’s a slight jerk of her head that Bucky is willing to interpret as a nod. He’s also willing to count that as a win.

A silence hangs over them, not awkward, but not exactly comfortable either, just two people together who don’t know how to fill it.

“I saw Doctor Endris, before I came in. He says you don’t like his questions.” When in doubt, state a fact.

Again he’s just met with blank silence. A lesser man would give up on her, he thinks, but not Bucky Barnes. He's just as stubborn as Steve, if not more so. 

“Remember you can talk freely with me. No matter what you say I promise I won’t get mad.”

“His questions are…” She frowns. Speaking freely doesn’t help if you don’t know the words.

“You’re not used to being asked things?” he suggests. She nods again, but it morphs in to a shake.

“There is no story. I do not know who I am supposed to be.”

And there it is, the million dollar answer.

“You’re supposed to be you. No cover, no alias. There’s just you.”

She frowns at him, disbelieving. “Desyat is a weapon. Weapons are not people.”

“Then you should become a person.”

“Weapons cannot be people.” She counters, sounding like this is the most obvious thing in the world.

Bucky stops and thinks for a moment, though he doesn’t let himself stay quiet for too long. “Then does that mean that people can’t become weapons?”

She’s quiet while she searches his face, for what he doesn’t know.

“Because if people can’t become weapons, then that must mean I was never a weapon.”

Now she looks outright confused, her lips parted slightly. She looks too cute to be a teenage assassin, and its rather endearing that she’s comfortable being this open with him. There’s a little something bubbling up inside of him that just wants to go ‘squee’. He tamps it down, deadly cyborg assassins don’t squeal.

“A long time ago, I was a person, I was a little boy, with a mother and a father and three sisters, and my best friend was another boy called Steve Rogers, then some bad people did some bad things and I became a soldier- a normal soldier in a normal army,” even though he didn’t want to, he would have been quite happy to have never left Brooklyn till the day he died. But getting in to wants and rules at this point would just confuse the kid. “I had to go to Germany to stop the bad people, but they captured me and the hurt me and then they made me hurt other people. I was a person and they made me a weapon. But if people can’t become weapons then that must mean I was never a weapon, and you can’t be a weapon either, because you are my daughter, and you call me Father. Weapons don’t have children, or fathers.” He shudders at the similarity of that line to what Lukin had said years ago.

There are gaping holes in his theory, but maybe it’s enough to convince her. Or just sway her, even a little. Please.

She looks away from him, her eyes darting from side to side as she thinks that over.

“They hurt you to make you a weapon.” There was no inflection to make it a question but he nods regardless. “They didn’t hurt me, I was already a weapon.”

“Bullshit.” He spits. The kid startles and looks up at him, wide eyed. “There’s a file, where they wrote everything they did to you, and I know that they hurt you. They cut your skin, and broke your bones, and made you forget everything.”

She shakes her head rigorously, looking more six than sixteen. “Education is essential to functionality.”

“Kid, they hurt you, they- they tortured you. All because they’re sick bastards who enjoy torturing kids.” Sam had notoriously called Hydra paedophiles for their treatment of Bucky at his trial, giving character reference to the man Bucky had become since his escape from Hydra. The physical and sexual abuse of someone in their care who is mentally and socially not cognizant enough to comprehend, never mind stop the mistreatment. Just because physically he was an adult, does not mean that the mentality behind his treatment was any different to paedophilia.

The kid, however, does not seem to share his thoughts on this. She raises an eyebrow at him, unconvinced.

“Education is essential to functionality.”

The not-awkward silence descends on them again. They both stare each other out, willing the other to relent under the intensity of their gaze.

Bucky relents. “Do you want to be a person? Hydra made me into a weapon, but I became a person again, and you can do the same, if you want to.”

She’s silent for a whole minute, until a last she asks in the tiniest voice he’s ever heard. “How?”

“Well first you need a name.”

“I am Nomer Desyat.” She offers, meeting his eye, like he didn’t remember which one she was.

“Yes, but that’s a number not a name. Unless you’d really like that to be your name?”

She looks away again and shakes her head.

“Then, I was wondering what you thought of Ekaterina?”

She glances at him before looking away again, sounding out the name to herself.

“My mother was called Winifred Catherine, she didn’t like her first name and wished everyone would call her Catherine, but they already knew her as Winnie. So I thought, maybe you would like to be named after her?”

“Ekaterina. Who is Ekaterina?” from the tone of her voice he knows that she is asking for a cover story, for an identity to adopt.

“Ekaterina is you, you were Desyat, but now you have a real name. You don’t have to pretend to be any one. Do you understand that?”

She takes a whole second before she nods an understanding. She doesn’t smile, but Bucky thinks that maybe there’s a light in her eyes, a softness to her features.

“Ekaterina Ivanovna Barnes.”

That softness intensifies in to an upwards twitch of her lips.

“And Katya for short? How does that sound?” he asks, smiling himself, even if it is his usual unpractised lift of the corners of his mouth. He used to be able to charm chalk from a chalkboard with just a smile and a word.

Again, Ekaterina tests out the new name, whispering it to herself like a mantra.  _I am Ekaterina Ivanovna Barnes. I am Katya._

A knock at the door announces the arrival of Doctor Nixon, carrying a tray, with a plate of hot food obscured by a steamed up cover, a bread cake and a chocolate bar on another plate next to a small pitcher of fresh juice. She places the tray on the rolling table and helps the Kid- Katya, adjust the pillows behind her. Everything is plastic, Bucky notes, from the plates to the cups to the cutlery. They may be helping Katya adjust to freedom, but they aren’t taking any risks if she decides to exercise her freedom to leave forcibly.

Katya is settled in place with the tray in front of her, but she doesn’t make a move to start eating, instead watching Nixon closely as she relaxes back in to another chair on the other side of the room. Only when Nixon is seated and sees Katya isn’t eating, does she give permission “You can eat, if you want.”

Katya barely waits for Nixon to finish her sentence before she removes the cover and picks up her plastic knife and fork. She cuts into what looks to be half a chicken and a gardens worth of vegetables and has her fork half way to her mouth before she pauses. She glances at Bucky then back at Nixon. “Status update. I am Ekaterina Ivanovna Barnes.” She informs the doctor before tucking into her food with gusto.

Nixon raises her eyebrows but doesn’t remark on the sudden change of, or rather acquisition of a name. She simply smiles and says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ekaterina.”

Katya nods and states “Katya” between mouthfuls. At this Nixon does frown and looks to Bucky for explanation.

“Katya is short for Ekaterina.” Watching his daughter eat reminds Bucky that he himself hasn’t eaten since breakfast before his workout and he would be starving if he ever felt hunger before the point of passing out from low blood sugar. He pulls out his really not-delicious smoothie willing only to drink it so he can have the sweet potato and cacao brownies for desert. Banner suggested them when Bucky was finding it particularly hard to eat his slush, and they taste a thousand times better then they sound.

He and Katya have been talking in Russian up to this point but Bucky switches to English for Nixon’s benefit. “You don’t have to wait for permission, if you want to eat, then eat.” Bucky demonstrates his point by starting on his smoothie with about as much enthusiasm of someone eating mud.

Nixon perks up a little at Bucky’s comment before sighing. “I thought as much.” She says to herself. “You don’t need my permission to do anything. I’m not a Hydra technician, Katya, I won’t be angry if you eat your food.”

“No one is going to punish you, no one is going to take your food away, no one is going to tell you ‘no’ if you ask for something. And no one is going to force you if you don’t want to eat something. Those are the rules.”

She’s back to being almost expressionless when she looks up at him, probably assessing whether he’s telling the truth or whether he’s testing her. She tests his ‘rules’ by pushing aside what’s left of her green beans, and finishes the rest of her meal.

Bucky pulls out his gym bottle while he’s still drinking the smoothie, working on the theory that if he doesn’t stop for breath it will be over sooner. The second he’s hit the dregs he puts it down on the bedside cabinet with a little more force than necessary and downs what’s left of his sports drink.

Nixon raises her eyebrows at his epic display of bad manners and he raises his own right back.

“What?” he barks, crushing the flimsy plastic bottle in his fist. Nixon shakes her head and goes back to nibbling at her apple. “It’s disgusting. You want to try it?” he offers the smoothie cup. Nixon takes it a sniffs at the contents.

“It smells like wet chalk.” She scrunches up her nose.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that was what it is.” And bless her, she takes a cautious sip of the dregs.

Her reaction isn’t as good as Sam’s was last night, but its good enough.

“Ergh, it tastes like wet chalk. I forgive you your manners, Sergeant, if that’s what you’re drinking.”

As a reward for her daring, he offers her one of his precious brownies, then gives one to Katya as well for being brave enough to not eat her soggy green beans.

And there’s a thought, he remembers promising a sugar lump to his youngest sister if she _did_ eat her soggy greens.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, another double chapter! Don't I just spoil you all.
> 
> hit me up if you want the recipe for Bucky's Cacao and sweet potato brownies, cos damn thems are nice brownies.
> 
> Great for guilty free snacks. nom nom nom.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days later, and visiting Katya in Medical has become part of his routine.

A few days later, and visiting Katya in Medical has become part of his routine. He doesn’t even feel the brief flash of panic in the corridor anymore before walking through the double doors into medical proper. He’d feel proud of himself for that if it wasn’t so stupid to be scared of a place, a set of doors.

A nurse, a dark skinned woman he’s never seen before, looks at him with awe wide eyes before waving him through to Katya’s room.

Inside, he’s met with Katya standing for the first time and Doctor Nixon holding her steady with so much concern written across her face he’ll be amazed if she can see under the furrow of her brows. It’s now been two weeks since they woke Katya and the disturbance to her equilibrium is apparently no better. 

Katya flares her nostrils in annoyance, but otherwise remains as unemotive as usual when the doctor is in the room.

Bucky drops his bag and helps support Katya’s weight when she starts to lean precariously to the side. Once she is settled on the bed again, he leans back and studies her face. She’s pale, though he doubts she’s ever been allowed off base long enough to catch a tan, and her red auburn hair only makes her look paler. There are bags under her eyes that he’d put down to lethargy, being stuck in a bed most of the day, but her eyes are bloodshot and unfocused. If he listens carefully he can hear her breathing is shallow and her heart is beating out a slow dull patter.

“Have you slept since coming here?” he demands.

Katya looks between Bucky and Nixon before shaking her head. “No.”

Nixon presses her fingers to her lips, her eyes widening. Bucky can almost hear her thought process, reaching the conclusion that it’s her fault. There are still some what should be basic functions Katya can’t do without ‘permission’; eating, speaking. Apparently Katya comes to the same conclusion as Bucky. A flash of something like understanding crosses her features before she speaks.

“The orders were sufficient. Something is… wrong.” A slight line appears on her brow as she says that last word, like it’s not the right word but she has nothing better to offer.

“What do you remember about sleeping before?” he says moving his bag out of the doorway and shutting the door properly. He pushes the bag under the plastic chair he sits in when he visits, but doesn’t sit just yet.

Katya thinks for a moment, but shakes her head. “I don’t.”

Bucky wracks his own brain trying to remember for her. He can recall flashes, cold cement, pressing up against metal bars, the dull flickering of a security light. That could be anytime, anywhere, in the seventy years Hydra had him. He remembers a small hand grasped in his, cold and trembling, but so, so strong.

“I think- I’m not sure, but I think they were, the children were kept together. When I was out, I was with them.” His tone raises at the end, making it sound like a question, maybe it is? But there’s no one who can answer it.

“You kept us quiet.”

Bucky jerks his head up to look at Katya. She’s looking straight through the wall, into her half remembered past.

“When we hurt, you kept us quiet. We knew to be quiet, but it was easier when you were there.” She shifts slightly, like she’s supressing a shiver. “It was cold, so we slept together. They kept you away, bars, just bars, but we pressed against them, you held our hands, kept us quiet.” She pushes a finger against her lips, like a shushing gesture.

Bucky is still fascinated by how quickly Katya is able to remember, as much as he wishes she didn’t have to remember, didn’t have to relive the horror that is her life. He’s hit again by a sudden directionless rush of anger/jealousy/hate, there and gone again before he has time to do more than clench his flesh fist.

He ignores the unwelcome emotion and focuses on the matter at hand. This kid hasn’t slept in two weeks. An unenhanced person, an untrained person would have been facing severe mental, even physical consequences by the end of the first week. Most people will be at the point of passing out after about 72 hours; the brain just turning off in order to save itself, with the serum that’s stretched in to five, Steve can go for about five full days, with training as well that period can be extended right up to around ten, for Bucky at least, and he can go even longer with stimulants, did go longer, but it would catch up with him in the end. Lack of sleep has its consequences and Katya is starting to feel them.

Sleep is essential for healing, for memory, for coordination and muscle control. Her balance is shot, maybe not because of the damage to her inner ear anymore, but through her inability to keep standing, to focus enough on staying upright.

“Are you- Do you feel safe here?”

Katya just looks at him. Another foreign word.

“I’ll keep watch, you need to sleep.” He declares. There’s little point in asking. He thinks he knows her well enough now to know that she just look at him blankly again if he asks her what she wants.

“I’ll…” Doctor Nixon points at the door, before leaving. She stills seems a little shocked by the discovery that the kid hasn’t slept at all. An in turned anger that she didn’t notice.

Bucky helps her lower the bed and settle down, she pushes the pillow away and opts for resting her head in the crook of her arm. He drapes the blanket over her legs, she jerks away at first before registering the warmth and softness of it and relaxes again.

Bucky settles himself into the plastic chair pulls out his phone and an apple from his bag before offering his right hand to Katya. When she takes it, he’s hit with the memory of a much smaller hand, clinging to his fingers with a too strong grip, wrapped in bandages after the day’s events.

¬_¬

The first time the Winter Soldier met the children, they were four years old closer to five, he remembers. He was teaching them how to use a knife, someone else had shown them the basics- hand to hand, how to read an opponent- and he was showing them how to be comfortable with the weapon against each other before teaching them to adapt what they know to use against adults. They were already decent fighters and they learned quickly, it only took just over two weeks before they were fighting with the speed and ferocity of experts. Just over two weeks before the red haired girl landed a fatal blow against the smallest of the males. The knives were specially made for the kids, long blades over small handles, but deceptively well balanced. Both children were flagging, but where the boy was strictly following instruction, the girl had wile, and he noted a crazed sort of determination in her eyes. The Soldier had not taught the children ambidextrous wielding, nor had he seen any of them practice thus. The red haired girl swapped the blade from her right hand to her left, used her right to catch the boys knife, gaining unnecessary damage in the process, the Soldier would be made to punish her for that; he commended her though, she didn’t even flinch, just brought her own knife around in her left hand and straight through the boys throat, through jugular and windpipe and out the other side.

If the girl had been spared punishment for her foolish manoeuvre before, she most certainly would not be spared for this. The masters are always strict with property damage and disobedience. Even though the techs rushed forwards, the Soldier knew that the boy was dead before he hit the ground. That was a move he had performed many times before. It was bloody, yes, but no one was getting up again after that.

The girl was panting, each deep breath releasing a little more of the blood rage that had consumed her.

Her left hand twitched and dropped the knife. She sucked in another deep breath, though it wavered and hitched, as her eyes went wide with the realisation. She crumpled, like her string had been cut, falling to her knees and watching as the techs futilely tried to stem the blood flow that was already starting to dwindle.

Without orders, risking punishment himself, the soldier approached the girl, pulled her by the collar to her feet and marched her to the wall. One of the techs had left their medical bag of first aid supplies, just slings and butterfly stiches really. The girl still had her brother’s knife through her hand, she didn’t seem to notice until the Soldier took her by the wrist and held it up at head height. He pulled at couple of folded triangular bandages from the bag and, without warning, pulled out the knife. She’s spirited, he’ll give her that, she manages to bite back her scream for two whole second before it tears out of her. He packs the wound with the triangular bandages and uses a long bandage to hold everything in place. He takes hold of her arm again forcing her to keep her arm up.

A man approaches them, dressed in black fatigues like a guard but the Soldier recognises him as one of the higher ups. He was the one who explained where the children were in their training.

“Identify!” he demands.

“Nomer Desyat.” The girl says, her voice is tight, pained but not without strength.

¬_¬

Bucky blinks away the memory, letting his eyes focus on Katya. She’s asleep, at last, her face is relaxed, making her look young, reminding him that she’s only sixteen.

Sixteen, and she’s seen too much, done too much.

The hand he’s holding is the one she had been stabbed through, but there’s not a mark to show for it. Granted, it could have been one of the other kids, his memory isn’t perfect, but he’s sure that it was her.

That guard had rewarded her skill, her killing of her own brother, by overlooking her disobedience. As though the murder of her sibling was akin to playing ball next to your mother’s best vase. He had the Soldier teach her how to perform better, teach her ambidextrous wielding while the others still learned to wield with their lead hand.

Bucky wonders briefly if she really is salvageable, if she can create a normal life for herself, when all her life she has been taught to kill and been praised for it. When all her life she has been a class above elite in the game of killing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a few days late, can I claim I had the Easter weekend off? 
> 
> This is the start of the end of what I think of as the slow bit. Things start to pick up pace from here on.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katya is finally able to sleep, but only when someone she trusts is with her.

Katya is finally able to sleep, but only when someone she trusts is with her. At first that trusted person is Bucky, but even though he has practice staying up night after night with his brains inability to shut off, he’s started being able to sleep more regularly in recent months, and though the discovery and waking of the Little Winter has upset that briefly, he’d started sleeping at least every three nights, or less on good days. So when Doc Nixon sent him marching off to bed, he listened, and that’s when they’d discovered the Doc is a trusted person too. Most days.

(It was a discovery for Katya too, so far she’s only ever known pain from the hands of anyone other than her siblings and Bucky. She was quite surprised when she woke up the next morning to see the Doc ‘reading’ with the book propped up by her nose. So surprised that she panicked and accused the Doctor of drugging her.)

It takes a couple of months, but Bucky finally introduces Steve to Katya. She immediately picks up on the authority he oozes unconsciously and her latent programming adopts him as a new master. Its subconscious, she understands mentally that there are no masters in the Initiative, but she still responds to every shift and word like an order. It frustrates her just as much as it upsets Bucky. Steve isn’t a particularly gesticulative person but he isn’t completely unanimated, but with Katya he has learned to be still. It’s only Bucky’s snipers eyes that see her minutely stiffening, preparing for a blow, every time Steve raised his arms. The first few times he visited she jumped up to attention, standing straight backed and ready for orders and Bucky can see her consciously fighting the urge even weeks later.

But surprisingly, despite his concerns, she adapts quickly, she learns to relax in his presence and even softens her edges in that almost smile of hers. Her adaptation is probably aided by the kicked puppy look Steve throws at her every time she slips up and says sir, or obeys an instruction accidently given. That look is the ultimate cure to programming, Bucky hates to see it when it's directed at him, a reminder that he's fucked up, but directed at Katya, he loves it. Steve also becomes a trusted sleeping companion.

Three months since Katya came to the Initiative, Hill can’t justify keeping her in medical any longer, and even Endris who always told Bucky that big changes are bad for recovery agrees that she should be moved to her own room. ("Having her own space will help her to stop depending on orders, teach her independence.")

Her ‘room’ is an on base living quarter, complete with its own kitchen. It’s all bare basics there’s a sofa and a bookshelf but no TV or books. And she’s provided with two pans, two bowls, two mugs and two sets of cutlery although the cupboards are empty. The bed is surprisingly a double with two blankets and two thin pillows, and in a drawer are the two spare sweats and t-shirts and the packs of underwear and socks she was provided with in Medical.

It occurs to Bucky that he should get her more clothes, but the only thing he knows about women’s fashion in this era is that Pepper always manages to look smart and Natasha to look both practical and sexy at the same time and he has no idea how they do that because they both wear pants or skirts and shirts yet achieve completely different looks.

He senses another talk with Natasha coming up, who he’s been avoiding as much as he can without seeming rude because all he wants to talk about with anyone is how well Katya is doing, and Natasha doesn’t want to hear it.

The bathroom is just as plain as the rest of the place, furnished only with her toothbrush and the half used bottles of body wash and shampoo.

On the plus side, Hill isn’t expecting Katya to learn how to clean the place herself, not only because she doesn’t trust Katya with bleach or other cleaning products, but also because the only things the kid has ever been shown how to do before is kill and lie and infiltrate, expecting her to suddenly be able to maintain her own living space when she’s never had one before is definitely too much to ask.

The down side to the room, Katya can’t leave without an escort, and Bucky is not allowed to be that escort. Katya is also under the same strict observation as he is except with the added bonus that her tracking device is disguised as a watch which she can’t take off. Bucky’s is in his phone which Starks AI’s remind him to pick up before he leaves a building, and will lock him in if he doesn’t. He also has to send a confirmation picture message to the fucking robots if he stays in one place for more than an hour to say yes I still have the phone which is annoying as fuck when he’s trying to do secret Avengery spy stuff like shoot a new head of Hydra and has to lie in wait for a few hours at a time. He almost missed his target in Dallas because he was texting the robots. 

Katya’s tracking watch monitors her heart rate and other vitals, which it also helpfully displays to her for exercise purposes. Stark even put a calorie counter on the thing.

Endris and another psychologist, a young dark skinned woman whose day job is to help injured people adapt to living with missing limps and other things. She apparently helped Steve get a handle on the new century and was supposed to help Bucky too, but he blew her off after expertly demonstrating that he can remotely access her computer and left her message telling her that he was able to cope with everything except the ridiculous number of TV channels and that he’s spent the last seventy years murdering people, only not so politely. Looking back he should have maybe at least let her show him how to use the coffee machine because even though Stark has explained it he still can’t make it work.

The psych, Angel Williams, is showing Katya how to cook simple meals and how to be sure the dishes are clean and to make the bed. Simple everyday things. She’s also shown Katya a few more personal things like how to style her hair in something other than a braided bun and how to apply eyeliner. (She was curious about the black lines some people have on their eyes.)

Katya’s sleep is disturbed again in the new environment and even though she says she feels even safer with Bucky lying next to her on the bed, she still can’t sleep. She patrols the apartment, checking the door she can’t open and the one barred window in the living area over and over. No one has entered, they’d both know if someone had even tried, there’s an alarm, just loud enough to be heard throughout the small condo, that sounds whenever someone accesses the keypad outside, announcing the entrance of one of the therapists, or an escort who will take her to the gym or the dining hall.

Katya knows that no one can enter with her knowing, but despite it all she isn’t comfortable in this space, and he doesn’t know how to help her. Steve promises to talk to Hill about it, but he doesn’t know what Hill can do about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey would you look at that, another double chapter!! I should really stop doubling up every week, cos soon it'll be caught up with what I have written so far, and I start a new job soon so I'll have less time to write in between daily training.   
> \-----------
> 
> I hope that the whole 'katya can't sleep without some one with her' thing doesn't sound as creepy as it could sound.   
> Just to clarify, all anybody does is sit with her, keeping watch and holding her hand to prove they're still there to her. I like to think that Bucky spends the whole time reading or doing word and number puzzles, Steve draws and Nixon does her paperwork or reads medical journals.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The -cell- apartment is adequate.

The ~~cell~~ apartment is adequate. The main room is ten paces by eight paces. The kitchen separated from the seating area by what Williams (“Call me Angel”) says is called a breakfast bar, two stools stand before it. The Kitchen is equipped with a stove and a hob that apparently houses four ‘smart’ rings. (“These are cool, they don’t get hot unless you complete the circuit with metal, and then it’s the pan that gets hot not the ring, so much safer for drunk cooking that normal electric or gas.” Angel was fascinated but apparently the cost is too much…? The cost of what, Ekaterina-not-Desyat does not know.) There is a small fridge in which a handful of vegetables and a small carton of milk is kept. And another cupboard that keeps other foods that don’t need to be in the refrigerator. Katya understands the perishable nature of vegetables and fruit, but she does not understand why all food is not kept in the fridge, surely one place for all food would be more appropriate than scattering it in many places.

The living area contains one couch and one armchair, she likes the armchair, it is well placed to see the whole of the room, and people are less likely to sit beside her when she is in the armchair. Katya does not like people to be too close, which is contrary to what she needs in order to sleep, but she is beginning to learn that trauma recovery is not logical.

There is also a bookshelf, it has five shelves which is too many for the three books she has acquired. One is about post-traumatic stress disorder, which is what Endris has diagnosed her with, although the book has a large focus on Combat-PTSD because that is what Endris is most likely to deal with in everyday work as an Avengers Initiative Psychologist, there is a section on Complex-PTSD with a focus on Prisoners of War. Though Katya would agree that she was dependant on Hydra for her needs, she would not agree that she was a Prisoner of War, nor that her experience was traumatic. Granted that what she understands of trauma is based on the immediate reactions of others after completing a mission with an audience. Endris says they would have been in shock not have PTSD at that point, though would likely have developed it if they were permitted to live long enough to develop it.

Katya does not agree that she is a Prisoner of War, or was; the Initiative is helping her not keeping her, because she was never a soldier, or on the opposing side to Hydra in a war, which seems to be a basic necessity of being a POW. Endris explains that she is a second generation POW, her father was and presumably the surrogate mother was also, the only problem is that throughout history most children of POWs are either aborted before birth or rescued as babies. A child who was raised as a POW and away from the care of the mother, it’s unheard of.

Another of the books is a manual that Angel Williams made on how to do things. It covers a wide range of subjects, from breathing and grounding techniques, to how to make a hot drink. Katya has taken a liking to honeyed herbal teas, which are simple to make but having the instructions available is comforting, she can refer to them whenever she needs orders. Simple, clear instructions that give orders to do this, this and this that doesn’t result in blood or pain. Angel Williams is good at instructions but bad at orders, she asks rather than commands, when speaking, the simple addition of ‘can you…?’ even when instructing on the strict method of creating a meal. Ekaterina prefers her written instructions which lists the order with clear and precise commands.

The third book is a fiction novel that Father (“You could call me dad? Or Papa? Father sounds a bit… formal.”) brought, it is titled ‘The Hobbit’ and he claims to have read it as a boy when it was first released, one of few books he and the Captain (before he was the Captain, she is learning most people have a ‘before’.) had owned. It is about a small man who lives in a hole and a host of other small, though larger than the small man, come and take him away from his hole and on an adventure. Adventures, according to Father (she may call him Papa, that at least, sounds familiar somehow) are good, but the small man is insistent that adventures are bad and Katya is inclined to believe that without any kind of training or even a full or accurate brief on the situation, the small man is right. The small man is not adequately equipped for his mission, he does not have the fitness nor training requirements to carry out his role in the mission, and then he is offered an unfamiliar weapon and expected to know how to use it. If not for the understanding that it is fictitious, which means not real, Katya would have half a mind to inform the company of Dwarves on the proper procedure to a successful mission. She does not like the book, it is silly and the writer doesn’t seem to properly understand warfare and espionage, yet she seems drawn to picking it up again and again when she is between activities.

Currently, Katya is sitting in the armchair, she has a sufficient view of the room and the window. There isn’t much outside, the occasional guards patrolling the perimeter and trees beyond the wire fence. The fence is electrified, which she discovered when she asked for permission to run the perimeter. The guards have not permitted this since when her guard on that day discovered she could run much faster than is standard for humans, she managed to lap him before he even got to quarter of the way. He had stopped her then and said if she cannot remain within his sight she is not permitted to run outside. The whole point of her runs is to be able to maintain her speed and stamina, so she is now restricted to running the indoor course.

Katya is alone in the apartment, which happens for three hours every day, between her midday meal and Angel coming to help her make the late afternoon meal. Most people, Katya has discovered, only eat three meals a day, but Katya who has an enhanced metabolism needs to eat five times a day. The Captain says he eats three large meals a day, but Katya is not capable of eating large quantities in one sitting. She remembers that before, she and her siblings ate two solid meals a day and then were supplemented with chalky shakes at regular intervals. While she misses the convenience and simplicity of the shakes, she does enjoy the flavours she is discovering in her meals.

Katya is alone, and she does not understand why. Isolation has always been punishment, but for isolation to be effected it must last for days, not meagre hours. Yet all the same she is put in isolation for those three hours every day.

She reads another chapter of ‘the Hobbit’, it takes longer than it does when Papa reads it to her, reading is something she was taught but she is not well practiced in it. And the written word is harder to distinguish, with no spoken accent or inflection, the individual words could be any language and it is only at the end of the sentence that she realises they are all still in English.

At the end of the chapter she puts the place marker back between the pages and then back on the shelf. There are only a few pages left of the book after this chapter and she finds she doesn’t want it to end, even though she thought it was silly at first.

She sits back down in the armchair and waits for Angel. There is still an hour before she is due to arrive, but if this isolation is a test of Katya’s patience then she will prove that she is patient.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, its late again. Bad author. 
> 
> Maybe I should set an alarm on my phone or something?


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been months since Katya was brought to the initiative and the novelty of ‘freedom’ is starting to wear thin.

It has been months since Katya was brought to the initiative and the novelty of ‘freedom’ is starting to wear thin. Without orders she feels like she is falling apart at the edges. Everyone keeps reminding her that there are no orders here, no tests or training or punishments, yet she feels constantly on edge waiting for an order, for an expectation, to finally push the limits of acceptable and be punished.

Papa remarks at how well she has been doing, even though she doesn’t feel as though she has done anything praise worthy, and he brings her more and more books. She has learnt that if it starts in one language then it is likely to remain in that language throughout, although sometimes there are confusing passages in French or Latin in English books, which is what the majority of the books are written in. Occasionally in the ‘Tolkien’ books there are lines written in a language Katya does not know, and she knows many, but the words seem familiar, like she has heard the language before. Papa explained that Tolkien created a whole new language, using Germanic languages as influence, which is maybe why, it is following familiar inflections and structures.

Everyone says how well she is doing, yet she does not feel that her behaviour is any different to her behaviour with Hydra, except for the occasional times that she tests the boundaries. But then, she's sure she did that before as well. 

She asks to run outside again and is told only if Captain Rogers is willing to run with her, (she has yet to ask him.) She has refused to leave when a guard has come to collect her for meal times, and other than saying “if you don’t go you’ll be hungry” and waiting for Katya to change her mind, her decisions have been respected.

She honestly expected punishment when she broke a punching bag, she knelt in wait for the blow, her body tense and quivering, but instead the guard just knelt beside her, not too close, and asked what was wrong.

She didn’t understand, still doesn’t, but she had not been punished, no one even raised their voice or threatened her or told her to clean up every last grain of sand with her hands.

This, perhaps, is what finally broke her, the last straw of building confusion and steady low grade fear. She has barely spoken over the last week, only moved from the armchair when the guard who phrases things more like orders than the others has told her, “come on, its chow time.”

Papa is pleading with her, again, for the fifth time this week, for her to move to the bed, to sleep, to talk to him. She won’t talk to Angel, she won’t talk to Endris, she won’t talk to Papa or Agent Hill and even Katya doesn’t fully understand why. She just can’t. She’s risking being punished, risking blood and agony with her refusal- her inability. But her thoughts, when they come are sluggish and empty, painfully aware of every passing second, but hours and days pass quicker than a blink.

For lack of anything better to do, The Soldier- Papa- pulls out his phone and calls the Captain. Her instincts or programming or whatever it is, still wants to see the Captain as absolute authority, as a master. If she could muster the energy she would hate Papa for this, feel betrayed by him, because they both know that if the Captain asks her to do something she will do it, like following an order. But she can’t muster the energy to even glare at him, to even focus her eyes and look at him.

It takes over an hour for the Captain to arrive, another man she doesn’t know in tow. The three men stand away and whisper together, she can only hear the lilt of their voices, not the words they are saying, that is until the Captain makes that sad puppy face and then Papa speaks up, “I don’t like it either, but you have… authority to her and she can’t stay like this.” Papa’s nostrils flare as he stares hard at the Captain, whose shoulders square up unconsciously before dropping again in defeat. The Captain nods and his mouth forms ‘yeah, okay’ before pulling back down in to a grim line. 

The Captain comes to her, kneels before her where she is sat with her knees pulled up in the armchair, and says “Katya, talk to me. Please?”

She looks up, her mouth is dry, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth when she rasps out, “yes.”

The dark skinned man fetches her a mug of water, before anyone speaks again. He hands it over with a quiet “drink this.” She takes a careful sip, testing the tempreture, the taste, before greedily gulping the rest of the cool water down before it can be taken from her.

“Tell me what’s wrong. Why won’t you talk to anyone?” the Captain asks, words chosen carefully to ensure he gives the essential orders.

The dark skinned man takes back the mug, but he refills it and offers it back. She frowns at it, the white porcelain glistening with water trails down the sides. This is a test, she knows it, but it’s not a test she knows how to complete. There has been no instruction, no orders, If she takes the mug, she could be punished for her greed, she can go longer without water. If she refuses the mug, then she is defying the master, if it is his wish for her to take it, she has no place to refuse it. If he so wishes she will drink until she vomits, until her stomach splits, until she drowns from it.

She needs to respond, if she doesn’t respond it will be seen as refusing and she will be punished. She doesn’t know how to.

He places it on the bookshelf next to the armchair and steps back so he’s standing next to Papa. Katya freezes, so still and taut, even she doesn’t know if she’s breathing.

“I don’t understand.” She says at last.

“What don’t you understand?” The captain places his hand on the seat of the chair by her feet, palm up, like he’s offering it to her. She trusts the Captain, and it feels like the same trust as with Papa and Doctor Nixon, not the programming demanding she trust him, but she doesn’t want to touch right now, she feels like Papa and Steve have betrayed that trust. She pulls away, more than she ever has before but not as much as she would like, the confines of the chair restricting her. Her muscles ache with the movement, and it’s only then that she realises that she hasn’t even twitched in hours.

Steve pulls his hand away, looking slightly hurt, and repeats his question.

“I- I don’t understand. I don’t understand.” Steve glances back at the others, Katya can't see his face but she knows he must be trying to comunicate with them silently. 

This time it’s the dark skinned man that asks, his voice is smooth and comforting in a way Katya didn’t know a voice could sound. “Katya, can I call you Katya? You need to tell us what you don’t understand, then we can help you so you do understand.”

She fights the urge to glance at the mug, it’s harder that it should be, her mind has singled in on only the test, the mug of water, she’s barely remembering to breathe.

“I refused. I failed. You’re not… I don’t understand.”

“What did you fail? Can you tell me?” The man asks.

How can he not know, he gave her the test, he should know, he should be punishing her, he should be pushing her to knees and forcing her head back by her hair. This must be part of the test, they always said they’ll make her willing, stop her biting. But, they always hit first, hard blows that made her jaw ache and head spin. So why haven’t they yet?

If it ends the torture of waiting for the punishment she’ll do anything willingly. She slips to the floor, folding her knees under her. The man stands from his crouch when she moves, this must be what he was intending, he’s letting her.

She brings her hands up in the same movement but when she undoes his jeans button he tenses, he must not have been expecting her to actually do it. She doesn’t pause, doesn’t give herself chance to hesitate, she hooks her fingers over his pants and shorts together and pulls them down quick. That breaks the man out of his stillness and he pushes her back hard by the shoulders, sending her tumbling over backwards, head meeting with the wooden leg of the armchair with a crack. Her vision swims a little.

“Woah, woah, what the hell! No, this is- Fuck. No!” The man scrambles to pull his pants back up. The Captain goes to the man while Papa rushes forwards to her. Hears them mutter to each other "that wasn't in the files", "I'll tell Endris about this."

The way Papa stalks towards her, she knows she’s done something bad and now Papa has to hurt her, or hold her still while the masters hurt her. She starts to scramble back, away from him, before she catches herself and goes limp, not even bothering to hold herself upright because she knows it will hurt more if she tenses.

“Shit, Katya, are- are you OK. Come on, sit up.” Papa pulls her up, so she’s sitting. 

The man, his pants refastened, comes back over to her. Papa is holding her up, holding her still, and she glances at the man before she closes her eyes. It’s worse if you close your eyes when you’re waiting, time seems to stretch and slow in the darkness behind your eyelids, but it’s easier to hide the tears, the fear, when they can’t see your eyes.

“Katya, can you tell me where you are right now?” The man asks.

It’s a strange request but she must always answer. “Avengers Initiative, New York.”

“Shit. OK, can you open your eyes for me? OK, that’s it, look at me.” Katya opens her eyes to see him smiling at her. It’s tight and doesn’t reach his soft brown eyes, but it’s clear there’s no anger in his face. “I’m not angry with you, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. Do you know who I am?”

Katya shakes her head, “No.” a crease appears between the man’s brows, gone again as soon as it’s there.

“No you don’t, do you. I’m Sam Wilson, I’m a friend of Steve and Bucky. Can we talk about what just happened?” She knows about Sam Wilson, Papa has talked about him, has shown her pictures of him with wings, flying somersaults in the air. 

“Test…” There’s about a thousand thoughts bouncing around inside her head right now, completely different to what she’s used to. There were orders to follow, tasks to complete, she only had to think about the task, the enemy or the obstacle, the rotation of the earth and the speed of the wind.

“What test?” the man, Sam Wilson, asks. When Katya huffs in frustration, with too many thoughts buzzing around inside her head it’s hard to think straight, thankfully Papa comes to her aid.

“What was the test?” He asks. “The water?”

When she nods, his hands tighten to just on the far side of painful on her arms. He quickly let’s go and gently rubs where his grip had tightened. “It wasn’t a test kiddo. He just offered it to you. Your choice if you took it.”

She shakes her head vigorously, it doesn’t make sense, she has no choice, no want, only what the masters want. “I don’t understand.”

“Katya, do you understand the difference between the Initiative and Hydra?” Sam Wilson asks.

She wants to answer, repeat what she has been told, no masters, no orders, no punishment. But it’s hard to believe when there have been orders, there has been punishment. She can’t answer, can’t meet Sam’s eye, she understands but she does not comprehend.

Papa, still supporting her from behind, leans around, mouth open as though to speak but he doesn’t when he sees her face.

“Which rule has been broken?” He asks eventually. “Orders?”

She nods.

“What are they ordering you to do?” the Captain growls, Steve, he prefers Steve, she _knows_ that, why would she forget that?

“Have to follow, have to eat, have to stay, have to sleep.” Even Katya can recognise that what she’s saying is stupid, petty. No one has made her do something she didn’t want to do anyway, no one has made her hurt anyone, or- or please any one. No one has even physically hurt her for refusing to obey indirect orders, when it was more a suggestion than an order. But it was still a lie to say there are no more orders, no more punishments.

Hydra never lied.

“Have they made you do anything else? Anything you didn’t want to? Or made you feel bad?” Sam asks.

“No.” She can’t look at them, she feels pathetic, defective.

“Sounds more like a case of people not being careful about how they phrase things.” Sam says. It seems more like he’s talking to Papa and Steve than he is to her, but he’s looking at her like he expects a response. She inclines her head, not quite a nod, but still an acknowledgement, if he chooses to see it that way.

“What about the other rules?” Papa asks.

She almost feels ashamed to say it, it’s pathetic even Katya can see that. They haven’t been isolating her for a few hours a day, they’ve just been leaving her alone, she doesn’t need to be guarded, just escorted.

It’s a weakness she shouldn’t have, it’s not even a punishment really, but it feels like one. It makes her scared, makes her weak, and not even the books Papa brings can stop her feeling this way.

She shakes her head, but even Katya knows that she waited too long to do so.

“Katya, it’s OK, tell me, please.” Papa asks. She doesn’t want him to hold her anymore, when she admits that she has a weakness, his grip will tighten again, he’ll have to hold her still so the masters can punish her. Papa never wants to hurt them but they make him. “Katya, please, No one can hurt you when I’m here.”

“They… isolate… me…” She whispers, so quiet that she knows it’s only that Papa has enhanced hearing that he hears her.

“What do you mean?” Papa twists her around so he can look her in the eye properly. His brow is furrowed deeper than she’s ever seen it and he looks genuinely alarmed at her statement.

She huffs with frustration. She knows it isn’t really isolation but she doesn’t know what else to call it. “Everyday, after midday meal, before Angel comes. I don’t- It is weakness.”

A strange rush of emotion, similar to what she feels everyday when she’s left alone, builds up inside her. It makes her throat tighten and her eyes prickle. She takes a few deep breaths like she was always told to do and feels it start to dissipate.

“You don’t like being left alone?” Steve asks, head cocked like it’s a strange curiosity.

She knows what she has done, admitted to weakness and now it will be exploited. Isolated until she forgets what other people are, until all she knows is the isolation. The tightness of her throat, the grip around her heart, has returned tenfold.

She doesn’t realise she’s shaking until Papa’s hold on her tightens, he pulls her into his chest and wraps his arms around her. The hold is ineffective for punishment, the warmth of his skin flush against her own is… comforting.

He shushes her, reminds her to breathe, offers unfamiliar words and promises that everything is OK, she’s safe. Sam instructs her on how to breathe, like she has forgotten, which it seems, she has.

The clench around her heart builds and builds until the prickle of her eyes turns to tears. She doesn’t remember the last time she cried, doesn’t think she’s ever cried from emotion before, tears of agony and the crocodile tears for missions not counting. The tears come and come and she doesn’t know if they’ll ever stop, the pressure in her head only seems to be getting worse, forcing out more and more salty droplets.

Nobody moves for a long time, for what Katya’s internal clock tells her is over an hour. Sam moves from his crouch to sit on the floor, Steve shifts his weight from foot to foot, Papa rocks her gently and strokes her hair. Nobody moves until they are all startled by the door alarm chirping happily and Angel walks in.

If she is surprised by the scene of three men and Katya sat on the floor staring at the door as she enters, Angel does an amazing job hiding it. She makes sure the door is shut behind her and smiles at the room when she turns back around.

“Hello everyone! Wednesday told me that you had company today, so rather than cooking I thought I’d treat us to take out. There’s a great little Cantonese place that will deliver to here, so I thought we could order in?”

Katya detaches herself from her father and stands to greet Angel like they have practised. 

“Hello Angel. It is nice to see you.” Katya knows that her words sound stiff and empty today, but she can’t muster up the energy to sound convincing.

Angel smiles warmly regardless, seeming genuinely happy that Katya is finally up and moving again. “Hello Katya. It’s nice to see you, too. I’m glad to see you’re feeling a little better.”

The evening passes by with food and conversation. Everyone seems forgiving of Katya, who sits quietly, too exhausted to be an active participant. She eats and says as few words as she can get away with. That is until the end of the night, when from some spontaneous surge of confidence, she finds the courage to ask the Captain to run with her.

He promises he will in the morning, so long as she has slept.

She falls into bed eagerly that night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katya’s need for someone to be with her when she sleeps is starting to takes its toll on everyone.

Katya’s need for someone to be with her when she sleeps is starting to takes its toll on everyone. Steve, without fail, will need the toilet right after she has finally fallen asleep and have to wake her again so that he can go. Or, it’s not that he has to wake her up, but that she will wake up the second he moves to leave.

Nixon isn’t always trusted, so some nights she will stay awake with Katya right through to the sun rising, which means that Nixon is needlessly exhausted the next day when she’s still an on-call doctor even if she’s not in the building.

Bucky is the one who is with her most nights, which also means that he’s awake most nights. Since she moved in to the apartment he can lay down next to her, he has the option of sleeping if he really wants to, but for whatever reason, he feels like he has to keep watch over her, stay vigilant for the nightmares that she rarely ever has.

He’s back at the tower in time for breakfast again, Katya somehow wakes at the ass crack of dawn every day, even though there’s no window in her bedroom. He makes it back to the tower in time to sit with Pepper and Bruce and occasionally Darcy if she hasn’t overslept, and eat fruit and a whole manner of plain boring foods, while they enjoy their buttery toast and hot, greasy bacon.

There’s no Darcy today, he'll probably catch a glimpse of her as she rushes out to work after hitting snooze to many times, and Bruce and Tony pulled an all-nighter last night so he’s sleeping that off, leaving just him and Pepper; Him dressed in his rumpled sweats with his hair thrown back in a birds’ nest bun, too messy to even pass as purposefully messy; and Pepper in her pristine cream and blue suit, hair and make-up immaculate even at 7 am.

“You look terrible.” Pepper states as he collapses at the table.

“Thanks, you don’t look half bad yourself.” He rubs at his tired eyes and looks at her properly. “I like the blue, it suits you. Matches your eyes.” He smiles, a tired mockery of even the unpractised smile he owns now.

Pepper waves a dismissive hand. “You flatter me, James.”

“One day, I’ll make you see the error of your ways and you’ll dump Stark and run away with me.”

“Oh really? And where does Steve feature in your fantasies?” She raises an eyebrow.

“He makes me see reality and realise that we’re all happy where we are.” Bucky picks up his mug and takes it to the counter to fill. He grabs the fruit bowl from the counter before sitting down again, pulling the bowl of mixed berries towards him.

Pepper turns her body to face him, a serious expression on her face. “Seriously James, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Katya was doing really well, she didn’t even need to hold my hand to fall asleep. Then Saturday, she had a nightmare, undid everything. Not just for her. I can’t sleep, I need to keep watch for her.” He holds up a hand stopping her form speaking. “I know it isn’t necessary, she doesn’t need me to, but I need to. And Steve’s busy with his, whatever it is he’s doing, charity thing. He needs to sleep and we can’t keep asking Nixon in, she’s got bigger concerns.”

“James, it’s great that you care so much about Katya, but you need to sleep too. You’re going to burn yourself out if you don’t get a full night’s sleep as well.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m fine, I don’t need to sleep much.”

“Perhaps. But you do need to sleep.”

“And so does she!” he half shouts. He’s exhausted after 6 days of consciousness, and his emotions are running higher than he’s capable of controlling. It’s a testament to just how amazing Pepper is that she barely bats an eye at his outburst. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “She’s been denied everything all her life, if I… I’d be no better than Hydra if I don’t help her.”

“I’m not saying stop helping her, just look after yourself as well.”

As much as he feels he should, Bucky is too tired to argue with her, too tired to even think of an argument, because she’s right, of course she’s right, she’s smarter than him.

He pushes his plate away and drops his head on the table.

“I don’t know how to help her!” he tells the oak. Dramatic as always, but he takes pleasure in being allowed to be dramatic these days.

Pepper is silent for a while, long enough for Bucky to think she didn’t hear him, or has lost interest in him if he’s going to start whining. He looks up to assess what to say, but instead sees her deep in thought, thinking seriously about his issue.

“You said, most of her problem is she isn’t used to sleeping alone. She always had someone with her, you or her siblings or a guard? Well, have you thought about finding her a substitute? Like a teddy bear?”

“She’s a sixteen year old super-soldier-assassin, not a baby who needs ‘Mr snuggles’ to fight off the monsters under the bed.”

“Yes, but the whole reason we give children a cuddly toy is because it’s like having another person next to you. Children like to be held and protected, but we teach them to outgrow that need for comfort, but maybe she never did. Hell, I’m not afraid to admit that when Tony isn’t in bed with me I cuddle his pillow. It’s comforting. And that’s no different than a child having a teddy. It’s just a substitute for having a parent or a partner beside you.”

“So you think getting her some stuffed toy is going to replace the safety and comfort her brothers and sisters gave her?”

“I’m not saying it’s going to be a miracle cure for everything, but I think it might help her, and there’s no harm in trying. Even if it doesn’t help her sleep, she still gets a toy out of it, a possession. How many of those does she have?”

Why does she have to be so much smarter than him? She’s proven to be a better parent than him to a kid she hasn’t even met. She can speak almost as many languages as him, she picked up on the Krav Maga he’s been teaching her in just a few sessions. And she runs an entire business empire at such a profit, her excessive philanthropy doesn’t even make a dent in her money. And what can he do? He can shoot good and hit stuff hard.

“You’re right.” He looks down at the table, grinding his teeth unconsciously.

“What are you thinking? Honestly.” Pepper asks, ducking down to try and get in his line of sight.

There’s a moment where he fights with the tightness in his jaw, before he speaks. “I’m a bad parent. I can’t ever make it up to her, I should have gotten the kids out the moment I met them, but I just left them to Hydra, left them to torture and abuse, didn't even care enough about them to remember sooner. And even now I don’t know how to help her. She’s my daughter, I’m supposed to just know how to help her!”

“That’s ridiculous!” Pepper speaks so sharply, which she never does, that it startles Bucky, he drops his shoulders, lets his neck go limp and aims to look as small and defenceless as possible while still remaining upright. 

“James, I’m sorry.” She moves to put a comforting hand on his arm but stops last second, and offers her hand, palm up, to him instead, just like Steve always does. There's a long moment before he shuffles his arm across the table until they’re just a hairs breadth away, giving her permission to touch. She places her hand gently on his arm and strokes with her thumb. “You are not a bad parent. A bad parent is someone who doesn’t care about their child, which you so clearly do.” Bucky opens his mouth to speak but she cuts him off with a raised hand. “Even back then, from what I can tell with what I’ve heard, you did the best you can with the situation you were in. The only problem you have is SPS. Sudden Parenthood Syndrome.” She clarifies with a smile. “It’s more common that you might think, Dads who didn’t prepare themselves for having a child, or soldiers who have been away at war. You’re panicking, that’s all this is, you’re trying to figure out what to do, but there’s no instruction manual to help you.”

He huffs "Except, i'm not suddenly a parent, and even if I am I’ve got it ten times worse than your average soldier coming home to his new kid. I’ve got no one to tell me what to do, she’s a teenager, an assassin, severely traumatised, with questionable emotional comprehension, and under house arrest at the HQ for a government organisation, I can’t even take her to get new clothes. It’s been months and still the only clothes she owns are the grey sweats and trainers she was given when she woke up. She can’t leave the compound, I can’t go anywhere other than the Initiative or here without an escort, how the hell am I supposed to get her a teddy bear?” His voice gradually got louder and louder while he was speaking until he was almost shouting that last sentence. His grip on his mug tightened until it shattered in his metal hand, shredding the leather glove he wears for grip and spilling cooling coffee down him. “Fuck!” he shouts, before his anger withers away and he wilts in his chair. Tears threaten to spill before they too dry up.

The unfocused frustration and anger at his situation has been building up and up, it was only a matter of time before it exploded. He’s just glad it wasn’t more destructive. But now that the volcano of emotion has erupted, it’s left him emptied and exhausted.

Pepper fetches him a cloth and helps him mop up the coffee and shards of mug.

“Maybe it’s time you talked to Tony? He can’t stop the surveillance, that’s court ordered, but both your confinements is clearly going to be the cause of more problems than it solves.”

It takes everything Bucky has at that moment to nod in agreement.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've mentioned it before, but i don't mean for the 'watching her sleep' thing to be creepy, but it still seems that way when i read it back, even to me. So just to reiterate, Katya has spent almost every single night of her entire life sleeping next to people she trusts, and i like to think that the kids took it in turns to keep watch over each other. So like any one who gets used to sleeping beside some one who suddenly finds themselves alone, it will take a period of adjustment, except she's adjusting to being alone after a life time of being surrounded by people.   
> I had a friend at uni, she's shared a room with her sisters since she was a baby, then suddenly she moves to uni and has a room to her self. She said that she had to learn how to sleep alone, as well as adjust to the sounds and feel of a new place. It took her a few months to learn how to sleep comfortably. so I'm basing Katya's adjustment on what she described, except a little more extreme because Hydra.  
> \----------
> 
> So this person is now a working person. woop. I've only done a week and already I'm starting to hate it. I like the challenge of learning to make the coffees, but the hours are long and the customers, as in all public sectre jobs, are a-holes. and in my 'part time' job i did 50 hours in my first week and i'm doing 40 this week so far.   
> Having a job means that i have less time to write, so i may have to play true to the 'might upload slowly' warning. Sorry folks.


	20. Chapter 20

When Steve gets back that evening, Bucky has been a useless heap on the bed since breakfast. He thinks he’s slept some, the day seems to have gone faster that it should have, but all he can feel is the gnawing fear and frustration building in his chest.

Frustration is a permanent state of being for Bucky. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. He’s frustrated with his inability to remember, his lingering incapability to give voice to his thoughts and feelings. He’s frustrated with the lasting effects of his programming or learned behaviours from his time with Hydra; the urges, the needs, the fears. He’s frustrated with the way his body betrays him, that the connection between his body and brain continues to be an elusive entity, and that regular sleep is still a far off dream. He’s frustrated with the surveillance, the way he feels no freer than he was with Hydra. He’s even frustrated with Katya, the things she demands from him, when he’s barely functioning himself. And his frustration at Katya makes him angry at himself, which just adds to the anger he feels for being so weak, so pathetic. He was more than capable of taking out any Hydra team that guarded him, he should have killed them all and escaped in the 40s, before they fucked with his head. He should have killed them all and escaped with the Black Widows. He should have killed them all and escaped with the Little Winters. But every time he could have, every opportunity he had, he wasted. He was too scared, he was too weak, he was fucking pliant. He fucking sat there and let them fuck with his head time and time again.

But the worst part is, he knows what Sam and Endris mean when they say he wasn’t capable of escaping. He knows he didn’t have a choice, he knows he didn’t have the understanding that anything was wrong. Some days he still doesn’t get that what they did to him was wrong. And that makes him frustrated too. That he can’t direct that anger outwards, he can’t be angry _for_ himself.

Steve sits next to him on the bed, asks if he can touch him. Bucky nods, but still flinches away from the contact and Steve removes his hand like it burned. It’s his own fault for being a coward and hiding under the covers, he would be fine if he could see Steve’s hand, where he was touching him.

There’s a rustle, then a rush of cold air and bright light as Steve lifts up the sheets from Bucky’s head.

“You OK?” he asks looking Bucky in the face to assess his honesty. Bucky knows that Steve trusts him, but he also knows that Steve knows that Bucky will lie about being OK if he thinks he can get away with it. He’s consented to more than just a hand on his shoulder, because he _should_ be OK with it, his boyfriend shouldn’t need to ask if he can touch his arm, or give him a kiss, or- Steve never pushed him for more than that. Only Bucky can initiate those kinds of touches, but it was a close call before Steve declared that rule.

Bucky looks him in the eye and nods, mumbles out a ‘yes’ before he pushes himself to sitting, swaddling himself with the covers as he does.

He can’t keep eye contact for the next part, proof of just how much a coward he is. “I need to talk to Stark. But- But I don’t know how.” More like he’s too scared to. Weak.

“What do you need to talk about?” Steve is more patient than a saint when it comes to Bucky. He’s normally a pretty impatient guy, he famously goes running headlong in to fire fights because it’s quicker than waiting for them to run out of bullets. But Steve can sit with Bucky for hours if that’s how long it takes him to find the courage to say what he needs to say.

He works his mouth like a fish out of water, trying to find the words he needs. He starts and stops like a stutter.

“I can’t… the surveillance… I need… feels like… I need… the shops- clothes… for- with Katya… it feels- like- like Hydra…” Some how Steve manages to make sense of his garbled utterances.

“You feel like you’re still with Hydra? Because of the surveillance?”

Bucky nods. “Paranoid.” He laughs self-depreciatingly.

“No, it makes sense. I mean, you are literally being watched, it’s not really paranoia when you know you are being watched. So, you wanna ask Tony if he can let up on the surveillance?”

Bucky shrugs his right shoulder, it’s too much effort to shrug with his left, the weight of that arm too much for a mindless gesture. He shakes his head eventually. “No, it’s… he has to, I get it. I just need to… to go out… without an escort… room to breathe. And Katya… We keep telling her, no Masters, no Orders, no Punishment, but- but, she’s locked in a cell- a fancy cell sure, but it’s still… And she still gets left alone some days, even though she doesn't like it. No better than Hydra.”

“We’re gonna have to talk to Hill about Katya getting out, but we can talk to Tony now if you want? I’ll go up with you.”

Bucky nods.

¬_¬

The Tower’s private labs take up the top four floors. The fifth lab level is still devoted to the Iron Legion, even after the whole Ultron thing, Stark hasn’t given up on his true AI dreams. Probably not helped by the fact that he has two functioning shackled AI’s running his Tower and the Initiative, and a third living in an organic robot body thing and enhanced with the Mind Stone. Stark seems to have just taken the Ultron thing and almost global extinction as a failed experiment, move on and try again.

Stark is apparently in Lab three, which looks like something just exploded in it, but without the smoke or fire. There are machine parts everywhere.

“Tony?” Steve calls out. A head pops up over a work bench, quickly followed by the rest of Tony Stark as he stands up to greet them.

“Cap, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? And you brought the tin man too? You ever gonna let me look at that arm?”

“No.” Bucky mutters and turns his arm away from Stark, like the fractional increase in distance will protect him if Stark decides he really wants to look.

Stark has read his file, and after a few really unfortunate incidents with Thor, he’s one of the few people who knows that there are a few Norse mythology related trigger phrases that just won’t break, and with a quick utterance of a single word, he could have Bucky compliant and even willing to let Stark tinker with his arm to his hearts delight.

Stark may come across as a really selfish asshole kind of guy, but he’s actually incredibly caring, he gives, gives, gives and won’t accept anything other than friendship in return.

“Tony, we want to talk to you about the surveillance.”

“I can’t stop it.” He blurts out pre-emptively. “I have to give weekly updates to like ten different people on what you’re doing, and one of them is the President. If I miss an update I could be arrested for preventing the course of justice. And you will definitely be arrested and imprisoned.”

Tony doesn't scare Bucky, few things actually scare him, even if there is this constant bubble of fear churning away inside of him. But without the buffer of a crowd to hide behind, Stark is too much for Bucky. Makes him feel panicky in a way that reminds him of the unpredictable nature of Lukin. He’s constantly expecting something, even though he doesn’t think that Stark would ever push him to his knees or shock him with a stun baton, there’s still the knowledge that he could do something. He could decide he doesn’t want to be Bucky’s parole officer anymore and ship him off to a secure psychiatric prison. Could decide to utter out the Valhalla command and leave Bucky a screaming, writhing, agonising mess on the floor.

He fears Stark because he has no reason to not do any of those things. Bucky tried to shoot him in the face when they met, then preceded to beat the living shit out of him and played a part in almost kill his best friend, all on top of promising that he doesn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. Sure most of everything that happened was Zemo's fault but Bucky could have been a little less crazy about how he responded as well. And then after the events of what the media has dubbed the ‘Avengers Civil War’, when Bucky was facing trial for everything that he’s done, Stark defended him, said his actions both with Hydra and after were not his to control. And even after everything, he was under no obligation to open his home up to Bucky, but he did. He could have, should have turned away and said no, left Bucky to be locked away, shut up in some psych prison with the drugs and the orderlies and the electroshock therapies and lobotomies, or whatever it is they do these days. Or handed him over to Ross to be put to use again. he should have- He shou;dn't have just said 'hey, i own a tower with a super smart AI and a spare guest suite, come live with me and i'll help you get your head on straight.' 

“I- I get that… I just… I need to get out.”

“You can go out.” Stark has acquired some small tool and he’s running it between his fingers, twisting and twirling it. It’s a mindless action, just something for Stark’s twitchy fingers to fiddle with, but it’s putting Bucky on edge, without being able to clearly see what it is, his brain is supplying him with a list as long as his arm of what it could be, and top of the list is remote trigger. Hydra had ways of controlling him if he ever went out of control, things implanted into his arm or under his skin that could be triggered remotely if necessary.

Lang and the Task Force dug out the trackers and the chemicals in high enough dosages to kill him from his arm, but they said they couldn’t be sure if they found everything. And Bucky knows there’s something at the base of his skull, he can remember Hydra putting it there, he can _feel_ it, just next to the first vertebra. He should probably tell someone about that.

His eyes are fixed on what Stark is fiddling with, so focussed on trying to be sure that it’s not anything harmful that he can’t spare the brain power to respond to Stark.

He startles when a hand touches his arm, a whisper of skin against his bicep.

“Bucky? Bucky, are you OK?” It’s Steve, he pulls his hand away when Bucky finally looks up at him. He’s clearly said his name a few times, before touching him. Steve never touches him without permission.

“Sorry.” He takes a deep breath, tries not to look back at the device in Starks hands, but it’s hard. He fails. “I need to get out. Alone. No- No… agents…”

Bucky is vaguely aware of Steve watching him, ready to drag him back to reality again if he needs to.

Stark is pretty sharp eyed and he notices what it is Bucky is looking at. He holds his palm out, showing what it is he’s holding. It’s just a screw driver. A small bladed Phillips head, a black handle with a red stripe.

“You want me to put it down?” Stark asks. Bucky nods. Stark places the screw driver on the work top beside him, shows Bucky his empty hands before dropping them to his sides. He opens and closes his hands a few times, like they miss having something to hold.

“So you don’t like the agents?” Bucky shakes his head. “They’re there to help you, you know that, right?”

“So was Rumlow. So was Rollins and all the Strike teams.”

“Those agents, their job is to protect you from Hydra.”

“And protect everyone from me. I get it. Forget it. Forget I asked.” Bucky starts to leave. He was an idiot for even thinking Stark would be willing to let someone like him loose on the world. He’s already got more than he ever thought he would just by being allowed to be in it. Any sane person would have shot him between the eye’s before even considering letting him be near people.

“Barnes! Have I ever given you a reason to not trust me?”

He turns back to face the shorter man. “I think _I’ve_ given me plenty of reasons not to trust you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I shot you! I tried to kill you! I almost killed your friend! Why the fuck would you keep me here?”

“I’m pretty sure there was a really good reason you tried to shoot me. And is that what you really think? That I keep you?” Stark looks offended.

Bucky’s perpetual frustration comes to the fore once more. He doesn’t really think that Stark is keeping him, not the same way Hydra kept him. But at the same time, he does. He flares his nostrils with a huff and looks away.

“He said the surveillance felt the same as Hydra.” Steve offers, clearly understand that Bucky doesn’t know how to say what he thinks. “And honestly, I’m inclined to believe him. He was watched 24/7, he was escorted everywhere. And now, he’s supposed to be free, but he has to babysat if he wants to go anywhere other than the Initiative. Hell, he can’t even get drive through!”

The only place Bucky is allowed to go unescorted is to the Initiative, and that’s only because his car locks when it leaves the tower parking garage and won’t unlock until he passes through the security gate at the Initiative. He can’t even roll the window down. And even then, he prefers it when someone else drives him there because last time he tried to drive alone something freaked him out, he doesn’t even know what, and he almost caused an accident. And then he was trapped in the car, hyperventilating because he was _trapped in the car_ , until an agent came to drive him back to the tower.

“Barnes, I may not exactly like you, I guess there are still some hard feelings about you almost killing me and my best friend, but despite everything, I do trust you. I think you’ve more than proven that you aren’t going to turn on us, and you’ve had plenty of opportunities to shoot me and call it an accident, yet I’m still standing. I don’t think you’re about to go crazy and start shooting civilians, but I also don’t think that you or the rest of the world are ready for you to go out alone. I mean you do still have flash backs and panic attacks, and up until a couple months ago you were regularly passing out from exhaustion and starvation.” Stark gives Bucky a pointed look.

“So what are you saying?” Steve asks.

“I’m saying that if it were entirely up to me, I’d scrap most of the surveillance and let you figure out what it’s like to be a real boy again. But any changes have to be made in agreement with the judge. I think I can probably convince him to loosen the noose but I don’t think I could get him to take it off. Maybe swap out the agents for just someone with you.  Maybe I can get you some conditional freedom, like with a watch like I gave the kid? Like I said, gotta talk it over with the powers that be, but I’ll get you something. I’ll send you a list of the changes.”

“Thank you, Tony.” Steve’s smile is tight, but genuine.

¬_¬

Hill is surprisingly easy to convince. She agrees that Katya should be allowed off base under condition; that there is always someone other than Bucky with her. She wanted to assign Katya her own escort for any outings, but after Bucky admits his feelings about the escort and the changes Stark is putting in place for him, she relents and agrees that being followed around by strangers is maybe not good for people recovering from Hydra.

She asks for details about Bucky’s first planned outing for Katya; a visit to the mall for clothes and other basics, and suggests that they take a female someone with them so the kid gets _everything_ she needs, not just tops and pants.

“I’m going to be blunt, but, have bras even crossed your mind when you’ve thought about getting her clothes?” Hill asks.

After his initial shocked splutter, Bucky finally admits “no.”

“And this is why you need a woman with you. If you haven’t thought about bras, then you haven’t thought about other basic feminine requirements. I suggest you at least _ask_ Natasha, she’ll know what Katya wants, even if she doesn’t know herself.”

This means that he actually has to talk to Natasha about something other than idle chatter or their last mission. He doesn’t know what he’s dreading more, taking himself and Katya into a crowded place or talking to Natasha.

He’d prefer to play Russian Roulette over this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies!! I know, its been weeks since I last updated!! I've been a busy busy person in my new job and I barely have the time nor energy to do much else.   
> I'm trying to make an effort from now on to at least write a paragraph a day and upload a little more regularly again.   
> Also I've just seen Civil war, so I might go back and change a few minor details to make it a little more compliant with the film. Or i may just bend the future of this story to meet the civil war canon, cause so far I've managed to remain kinda vague about Bucky's past and hint at things that happened in the film from just the trailer.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a little bit of convincing to get her to listen at first, when Bucky brings up Katya, but in the end Natasha has to agree that a) Bucky and Steve would be atrocious at buying women’s clothing, and b) Natasha knows what a spy/assassin would feel comfortable in better than some therapist, even if said therapist does work for a spy organisation.

It takes a little bit of convincing to get her to listen at first, when Bucky brings up Katya, but in the end Natasha has to agree that a) Bucky and Steve would be atrocious at buying women’s clothing, and b) Natasha knows what a spy/assassin would feel comfortable in better than some therapist, even if said therapist does work for a spy organisation.

Despite Bucky’s advice that she at least introduce herself before they all go out, Natasha’s first time meeting Katya is an hour before they're scheduled to leave. (Another of Hill’s requirements was strict time keeping and not disrupting Katya’s therapy sessions.)

Natasha gets buzzed in by Agent Copley, one of the agents who escort Katya around the facility. She’s mostly quiet when Bucky is around, leaving them be and doing her job from a distance. All she has to do is be where Katya is, make sure she isn’t stealing Avengers secrets to take back to Hydra or whatever.

Natasha has a large rucksack slung over one shoulder, which she drops on the arm of the couch before she even says hello.

Katya is watching her warily, but with a hint of something similar to recognition in her eyes.

“I look like you.” Is the first thing she says, all niceties forgotten. “You are my matriarchal donor.” There’s the slightest upward intonation, which might make that a question.

Well that’s one way of asking someone if they’re your mother.

“Uh, yeah.” Natasha seems just as stumped as the rest of them. How do you respond to that, though?

“I am Ekaterina Ivanovna Barnes. They said you were the best, that me and Vosem’ had to be the best as well.”

“Vosem’?” Natasha asks.

“He was my brother. They made me shoot him when he didn’t wake up.” If Katya ever actually gestured, she would have probably shrugged saying that. 

Something despairing crosses Natasha’s usually blank face. The knowledge of having a son as well, or hearing how casually Katya can talk about what she was made to do. It’s hard to hear, even for people like Bucky and Natasha who have lived it all as well.

Natasha pulls her mask back in place and smiles. It looks warm and welcoming but it’s the fakest smile Bucky has ever seen on her lips. “Natasha Romanoff.” She offers her hand. Katya just looks at the hand for a long moment before finally taking it.

“As comfortable as sweat pants are, people don’t normally wear them in public, so I brought you a few things. You’re about the same size as me so they should fit.”

Katya has maybe a couple of inches on Natasha, it’s hard to judge exactly while Nat’s wearing her usual heels, but other than being a little taller, Katya is almost a mirror image of Natasha. Her hair a shade darker, her eyes blue instead of green. There is no argument they are related.

Natasha unpacks the selection of clothes from the bag, laying them out on the back of the sofa so Katya can examine them. A couple of pairs of jeans, a few tops and shirts, a leather biker jacket. Natasha gathers together an outfit, a pair of black jeans, a plain black vest and a red and white plaid shirt, which she passes to Katya with the command, “Put those on,” and a wave of her hand indicating she go to the bedroom to change.

When Katya comes back in, she looks almost… normal. A small scowl on her face to show her displeasure with the skinny jeans, and she’s buttoned the shirt all the way up and tucked it in. When Tasha untucks the shirt and undoes a few buttons, Katya could be any teenage girl.

“How do you feel?” Bucky asks her.

“Tight.” Katya nips at the seam of the jeans around her thigh, demonstrating the lack of give.

“They’re supposed to be.” Tasha bats at her fidgeting hand. “I brought some boots too. These, at least, should be comfortable for you.” She pulls out a pair of combat boots from the rucksack and hands them over.

Katya, takes the boots and slips her feet in to them, as she starts lacing them up however Natasha instructs her to lace them loosely.

“Impractical.” Katya states.

“Yeah, pretty much everything people wear these days in impractical. Loose shoes, layer on layer of thin fabric. You wouldn’t need so many layers if you just got something thicker. And fake pockets, what is the point of fake pockets.” Steve rambles.

Natasha kneels to show Katya how to lace her boots in a way that looks fashionable but is secretly practical.

“Don’t get me started on fake pockets, you’ve got like one shirt with a fake pocket, you do not know the troubles of fake pockets. The efforts I go through to sew pockets into my bras just so I have some where to keep my credit card and my Berretta Bobcat. Women’s clothing _never_ has pockets, or the pockets are so small there’s no point in them even being there.” She stands and slides one finger in to her jeans pocket to prove her point, it only comes up to the second knuckle of her index finger. Katya does the same with her own jeans, looking displeased by the minuteness of the pocket.

“When you’re cleared to carry weapons, I’ll show you the best ways to hide them.” She slips her t-shirt up off the small of her back to reveal two 6.5’’’s holstered in a black and flame red garter belt.

Steve goes bright red at being flashed her underwear, Katya looks appreciative and Bucky is outright ogling.

“I want one.” He says, scrutinizing Natasha’s hips as she covers up again. The belt is barely visible under her top, only noticeable at the way the fabric catches on fabric that shouldn’t be there, the guns are completely hidden.

Katya is now avoiding eye contact in a way that seems to make only Bucky suspicious, maybe because he knows her better than the others. “What?” he demands. Katya looks up, her eyes flicker to meet with Bucky’s before they fix on a spot just other his shoulder. She doesn’t normally have any problem with eye contact with him. With Steve, yes, but him, he doesn’t think she’s ever not met his eyes before.

“What is it?” he repeats.

From the back of her own jeans, Katya procures a small knife, barely more than six inches pommel to point. Its black, double edged and lethally sharp. It’s laughably tiny compared to anything he’s used to, smaller even than the hilts of most of his knives, but its easily concealed and suitable for throwing as well as sticking someone with the pointy end.

“Where did you get that?” Steve asks in his ‘Captain America is _very_ disappointed in you’ voice.

“Agent Miller.”

“And does Agent Miller know you have their knife?”

“No.”

Bucky slides the knife back into its tiny cloth sheath and hands it back to Katya, who looks at it likes it’s a bomb about to go off.

“Bucky, you can’t give it back to her, she isn’t allowed weapons.” Steve says, exasperated.

Bucky shrugs. “Never stopped me.”

“How many weapons are you carrying?” Steve glares at him, accusing and suspicious.

Bucky puckers up his lips in a tight pout and shrugs with his eyebrows as well as his shoulder.

“Bucky…”

“Three that I can count. So at least double that.” Natasha tattles.

“You know he’s carrying? You know he isn’t allowed and you never mentioned?” Steve looks like he’s about ready to quit his life.

Tasha shrugs as well. “He’s wanted by Hydra and AIM and every other bad guy group out there, and you think he should just walk around defenceless? Do you want Hydra to take him back?”

Steve looks scalded. “No…” he frowns, “But six knives? Isn’t that a little… excessive?”

“Rogers, I’ve just admitted to carrying three pistols on a trip to the mall and you didn’t bat an eye. We’re spies, we prepare for the worst and expect it to happen, we just hope it doesn’t.”

“Yeah Steve! We’re prepared.” Bucky sounds brattish and insolent and Steve could just slap him. He’s sobered up when he speaks again. “I feel safer when I have them, even when I _know_ Hydra can’t get me, at the tower, or here, I know I’m safe, there’s more security than the white house, but I feel better when I have something. The only times I was weaponless was in the Hydra bases, I was more than defenceless. I don’t want to feel like that again.”

“Oh, Buck.” Steve's chin wobbles and he scoops Bucky up in to a hug. Katya is watching them warily, ready to come to her father’s aid if he needs it. She’s still holding the knife like she doesn’t know what to do with it.

When Steve and Bucky break apart, Steve sees her. He smiles his sad puppy smile and says “keep it.” Katya hides it away back where she got it.

Steve is a firm believer in rule are there for a reason, but he’s also a realist and can recognise that some rules are utter bullshit and should be ignored when necessary.

After Natasha plays around with Katya’s hair a little, undoing the tightly braided bun she normally keeps it in, and pulling it all over one shoulder and refastening the ends in a loose plait. There’s a quick application of makeup, “I don’t think you’d ever get a teenager who doesn’t wear at least eyeliner these days,” and then they’re ready to go.

Bucky takes a moment to just stop and look, at Katya, at Natasha and Steve. This is his family. There was a time that he thought he’d never have a family of his own, that his folks and his sisters were all he’d ever have. Never really saw himself settling down with some dame and having kids. He never expected to make it through the war, which he didn’t, not really. But here he is now, in the future, with the love of his life and his daughter and Natasha, the mother of his child but who he thinks of as his baby sister.

He thinks about taking a picture, preserving this moment for eternity, but he thinks what he likes about this situation is how normal they all seem right now, stopping and posing for a picture would break that illusion and Katya’s starting to give him that assessing look, like she’s deciding whether she needs to inform someone that the Winter Soldier is malfunctioning.

“Let’s go.” He says, grabbing his jacket and passing Katya the one Natasha brought for her.

The early September air is still warm enough to go without a jacket, but Bucky’s excuse is a jacket helps hide stiffness of his left arm, the way the unforgiving metal doesn’t shift and move like a real arm, or the way there’s no casual swing when he walks.

Steve wears his own to hide the tell-tale bulk of his arms, that coupled with his blonde hair and being taller than most, just screams ‘I’m Captain America’ at every one they meet. He’s going the full hog today with the baseball cap and those ridiculous nerd glasses so he won’t get recognised.

Natasha probably has a whole arsenal hidden in the lining of her coat, which is probably why she’s rarely seen without it.

Then with three adults in coats, it would be a little weird for a kid to not be wearing one, even if she does look like the rebellious, independent but still well behaved cliché Bucky has seen on TV.

¬_¬

Even with Bucky’s desperation to get out, the sheer number of people at the mall is a little over whelming. It’s a Thursday morning on a school day, so it isn’t exactly crowded, but the most number of people Bucky has been around lately are the maybe twenty agents eating lunch in the mess hall. And the sense of comradery and the fact that he recognises most of the faces even if he doesn’t know their names, makes them seem less potentially hostile than a mall full of complete strangers.

The only comfort he has is that Steve seems to be a little edgy around the number of people as well, though probably for different reasons than Bucky is.

“It’s busier than I thought it would be…” Steve mutters to himself, just loud enough for Bucky to hear.

“We’ll be fine.” Natasha whispers back, and Bucky is reminded that Natasha is also enhanced, though at a lesser degree than himself and Steve, and hey, don’t forget about Katya. Remembering that he’s with three other enhanced individuals instead of just Steve actually helps with Bucky’s unease, even if Katya’s loyalties are still questionable. He want's to believe that she will be loyal to him, and Steve, but even he must question his own loyalties, becuase even now, if someone says the right words he could start blindly obeying a stranger. 

First things first, they start with the basics, Tasha takes Katya to a lingerie store saying “she needs to get measured” and they disappear in to what Bucky thought was just a changing area, but the clerk goes with them. When they reappear, the clerk looks concerned and confused and Natasha is talking softly to Katya in Russian and Katya is clinging to her shirt like she’s trying to stop someone from pulling it up. And it occurs to Bucky that they are currently in a shop surrounded by bras (which is making Steve go a little red in the face) and the clerk probably did have to get Katya to take her shirt off for her to ‘get measured’.

And that’s when Bucky decides they shouldn’t be here. No rhyme or reason for the decision, not logically, just some haywire instinct screaming at him to run, and Bucky is nothing if not a creature of instinct. 

“We have to go.” He says tugging Steve towards Tasha and Katya by the sleeve.

“Bucky what’s wrong?” Steve asks letting himself be pulled along, trusting Bucky has seen something he hasn’t.

“There's- She’s not ready for this. We were stupid to think she was. Come on, we have to go.”

Natasha gives the perimeter a cursory check before she realises that Bucky is watching Katya like a bomb, not some guy in too dark clothing, that Bucky finds suspicious or whatever.

“She’s not ready, or you’re not ready?” Natasha asks, somehow remaining stationary despite Bucky’s insistent tugs on her arm. Katya has gone pliant with Bucky’s manhandling, letting herself be moved, her face gone blank, or blanker somehow than it was, despite the fact that Bucky’s grip on her arm has to be painful.

“Barnes, if you want to leave then leave, don’t let us keep you here, but don’t go projecting your insecurities on other people.”

“I’m not projecting; I saw how she looked when you came out of there. She’s not ready for this, we should have just ordered online or something.”

“Yes, something happened back there, but I asked her if she wanted to continue, like a half decent human being would, and she said yes. And I’m going to believe her until she gives me reason not to!”

Steve choses that moment to not so subtly step between them and stupidly say “uh?”

It’s also then that Bucky realises that they haven’t been speaking in English, which fair enough that happens, but they have been not-quite-shouting in Ukrainian, and they’ve attracted attention of people watching them suspiciously.

Steve smiles at them, his usual too big grin, while Bucky and Natasha look awkward and fidget their feet. Or Bucky does, Natasha somehow manages to come across as apologetic yet stoic. 

“Are- are you really OK?” Bucky finally asks Katya.

She nods.

“Didn’t understand why you had to take your top off, did you?” Natasha admits.

Katya shakes her head this time. “Natasha explained.”

“And then you were fine?” Bucky asks. Another nod to confirm.

“The clerk was confused that she refused to at first, but I explained it’s her first time and she doesn’t like people seeing her scars.”

Bucky frowns at that. What scars?

Katya lifts her top and shows him her ribs, scattered with thin white lines. Bucky can recognise the intent behind most of them. A couple look like someone got too close with a knife, for all he knows it was probably him while he was training her. A few he recognises as a form of torture, barbed knives stuck between the ribs, deep enough to stay in, but shallow enough to not do any internal damage. They make every breath a worse agony than broken ribs, he knows because he has a matching set. Others look surgical, to fix broken ribs, or Hydra just cutting her up because they could. The worse one is the bite mark, just peeping out from under the sports bra she’s wearing, there’s no mistaking that for anything other than human.

The horror map written across her body is wrong, the scars shouldn’t be there, not because she should never have been hut in the first place, but because they literally should not be there. Bucky doesn’t scar unless the healing process was interrupted somehow, an infection or the injury reopened, through movement or at Hyrda’s whim, or if the injury was just that bad, that it should have killed him.

“The scars were mentioned in the report. Did you read it, or just the key points?”

“Key points,” he admits. He didn’t like the clinical language of the report, it sounded too much like the Hydra files.

Natasha rolls her eyes at him, before turning to Katya, “your father is a nightmare, never does what he’s supposed to. Now, your mission is to find a really cute bra, bonus points if it comes with matching panties. Any questions?”

“Define: cute.”

Natasha educates Katya in the finer points of female underwear, what’s comfortable, what goes with what, what style she should wear with what outfit.

Meanwhile Bucky and Steve just linger by a cluster of too thin mannequins and talk about the unrealistic body expectations being imposed on women and the stupid poses the mannequins are positioned in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

The morning passes without further incident, and Katya seems to be really becoming a real girl. She has strong opinions about fashion, mostly that most fashion is impractical, pointless tassels or too long, or too tight.

Natasha gives advice about what to wear with what, where she would conceal weapons while wearing something. Explains that plain is good for going unnoticed but it’s nice to wear something bold every once in a while.

Lesson over Natasha lets her loose on the store with simple instructions such as pick out up to five pairs of jeans, or ten t-shirts. Then with the first part done, she then instructs Katya to pick out a few bold pieces as well.

There’s a whole section in one shop that is just tops and sweaters with pop culture references and big bold prints, from there Katya gets herself a few Harry Potter themed tops, and a plain grey one with ‘not all those who wonder are lost’. Bucky can’t help but smile at the way she zeroed in on something she recognised and let the corners of her mouth twitch upwards with pleasure.

Another t-shirt that gets the biggest smile he’s ever seen on her states ‘property of no-one’ across the chest. That one definitely gets bought.

Its getter towards midday and everyone is starting to get hungry. They head for the dining quarter and find themselves a quiet corner in a quaint Italian restaurant.

Steve goes through the menu with Katya, helps her eliminate meals that come with things she hasn’t tried yet or doesn’t like, while Bucky stares at the menu already knowing that there’s probably nothing he can eat. He sighs and folds it away, resigned to getting out one of the smoothies from his bag.

Steve had suggested he come prepared for a long day, so he’s got two Totally Gross Smoothies in one of Steve’s rucksacks, (his gym bag, his only bag, was too big to carry around a mall all day) as well as water and vegan brownies.

When the waitress comes over, Steve surprises him by asking if they do anything Vegan.

“Not strictly vegan, but we can do a risotto without the cheese.”

And then he’s grilling her about what kinds of risotto and what else is in them. The waitress is a little flustered at first but she expertly reels off the ingredients used and finishes with “The risottos are a little more expensive than some places but we only use fair trade rice and fresh ingredients in all our meals.”

“Any of those sound good, Buck?”

And Bucky was expecting it, because why would Steve be asking about Vegan food if not for him, because he’s pretty much restricted to a vegan diet with all his issues. All the same, when Steve asks him, he can’t help but feeling embarrassed, like he’s some pretentious bell end who’s too up himself to even ask for special treatment. He looks down at the table and shrugs.

“Need a minute to decide?” the waitress asks, her voice sounds a little strained under the put on ‘happy to help’ cheer.

“Please.” Steve smiles.

Great, now she definitely thinks that he’s up his own ass, that or she thinks he’s stupid.

“You OK, Bucky?” Steve asks, all oblivious concern.

He shrugs again. “Mushroom and Leek sounded OK.” He tells the table.

There’s a pause and Bucky swears he can hear Steve frown. “Have I upset you?”

“She’s gonna think I’m some idiot who can’t even order his own food, or- or so up his own ass he thinks he’s above asking for something, like- like those pretentious vegans who think everyone should be vegan.”

“Bucky, I’m sorry. I just saw there wasn’t anything you could eat on the menu, and I thought I’d ask, cos I know you’ll just have one of your shakes and not even think you could ask.”

“Sorry.” Bucky hunches up his shoulders.

“What are you apologising for? It’s not your fault, and I should have said something before.” Steve offers his hand to Bucky over the table, Bucky considers for a moment before taking it, he’s never been able to stay mad at Steve.

The waitress bounces back up to their table. “Have you decided yet?” she smiles at Bucky.

“Mushroom and Leek?”

“Sure, one mushroom and leek risotto with no cheese. What else can I get y’all?”

Steve orders two Calzone Carne, “on one plate please,” and shyly rubs the back of his neck. Natasha settled on Bistecca Fuego, a steak in a rich tomato sauce, and Katya gets Pasta Pollo.

The waitress cheerfully recites their order to make sure she’s got everything, and then before she leaves, she gives Bucky a sincere smile. “Don’t feel so down, I’m coeliac, so I know what it’s like, ordering in restaurants. I’m trying to get the manager to add a few special requirement meals to the menu.”

Bucky manages to convince his face to smile at her, glad that she at least doesn’t think he’s some stuck up vegan twat.

Who the hell chooses to eat rabbit food? There’s a reason humans are omnivores, they’re just defying their nature not eating anything that comes from an animal. God, Bucky misses meat, and they could only ever afford cheap stew meats or snouts and trotters, not exactly prime cuts.

They sit back and talk for a while, or rather Steve and Natasha talk and somehow manage to coax a few words from Bucky and Katya every now and then.

Their food, when it comes, is delicious though Bucky spends most of the meal staring forlornly at Steve’s calzone because it smells like bliss and history. The smell is nudging loose some part of his past he can’t quite remember and he’s sure that if he could just taste it then he’d finally be able to scratch that itch.

He picks at his risotto, but it’s both too rich and too bland. The monotony of leeks mushrooms and rice is starting to bore him, while the stock and flavourings are too much for his delicate tastes. God above he sounds like a twat even in his own head. 

Eventually he just gives in. “What am I not remembering?” Because there’s always a good chance that Steve can tell him, and if not, then he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to remember.

“Uh, what?” Steve looks at him blankly.

“The calzone, the smell, its familiar but I can’t remember why.”

“Oh, uh, we had it once, in Italy, a group of Resistenza sheltered us in Rome for a few days, and they made us all this huge calzone, everything on it. It was about the only decent thing we ate the whole time we were in Italy. We probably should have appreciated it more, but we were starving, you more than the rest of us, you kept passing me at least a third of your meal, saying you were full and I had to eat more to keep my strength up.”

Its a bit clichéd to say it all comes flooding back, but that’s what it feels like, like he’s drowning in the rush of memory.

“Dum Dum got shot. We were only supposed to stay one night, but we had to wait until he could march again.” He recalls.

“It was a bad graze really, but the way he was acting, saying we gotta let his girl know he died fighting, you’d think it was a gut shot. We got him stitched up and stayed until he could breathe without wincing.”

They continue telling more war stories, even Natasha joins in and tells a couple of embarrassing stories about Clint.

Bucky actually manages to finish his risotto, got distracted from the rich blandness by the stories they were sharing, and he thinks he should get started on one of the smoothies while they wait for Steve. His stomach may be huge, but his mouth is only so big.

He pulls out the shake and starts grudgingly drinking it. He only get about four mouthfuls before a new waiter comes up to their table and informs him that ‘he can’t drink that in here. Only items purchased in the restaurant can be consumed on the premises’.

Bucky relents happily, snapping the cap shut and shoving it back in his bag. Steve looks like he wants to argue, is opening his mouth to do so when Bucky kicks him in the ankle. A pointed look towards Katya reminds Steve to keep his mouth shut, they haven’t been recognised yet but if Steve goes on a rant then that will likely change. Its not that Steve would ever outright say that he is Captain America, but he gives off this aura of righteousness, that intensifies to levels achievable only by Captain America when he rants. And if Steve is recognised then its simple association to place the hollow eyed guy as the Winter Soldier and the red head as Black Widow. And then there’ll be the awkward questions of what three of the avengers are doing with a teenager and why does she look like the Black Widow?

No doubt Natasha could just breeze them off with a wink and a word, but Steve is incapable of lying convincingly. To say the guy made some pretty successful films on his monkey show circuit, the guy doesn’t not know how to act when being dishonest.

They finish up at the restaurant shortly after that, pay for the food and leave their complements with the Chef. Steve insists on leaving enough tip to pay for their meals again, hiding the cash in the little book the bill came in and herding them all out before the waitress has chance to try to give it back.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The afternoon moves them on from clothes shopping to hair and makeup.

The afternoon moves them on from clothes shopping to hair and makeup. In the beauty stores, there are women wearing way too much make up almost forcefully trying to sit Katya at their counters for a makeover. Natasha just smiles overly sweetly in that almost sinister way she has and steers Katya away from their grabbing hands. After the third woman goes to put her hands on Katya, Steve starts putting himself between his spies and the far too handsy workers.

Bucky almost wants one of the terrifyingly tanned women to get her hands on Tasha or Katya, just so they can have their wrists broken and be taught a lesson against grabbing at strangers.

Once they make it past the grabby women and to the shelves, finding a suitable whatever its called for Katya takes about half an hour and a stop at nearly every single brand’s kiosk, because she’s too pale for all but one of them. Then it’s only another ten minutes to grab the rest of the horde of supplies, and really it’s a horde, a mini basket full of pens and pencils and little glass vials, about the only thing that’s familiar to Bucky are the lipsticks, he remembers girls expertly reapplying that using their reflections in darkened windows or little mirrors after necking in an alley.

Bucky always liked the way it smudged, making the kiss reddened lips look darker and bruised, and the way it smudged on to his own lips and the girls would run their fingers over his lips to clean him up. Apparently lipsticks these days don’t smudge or transfer and he might have been upset by that if he didn’t have Steve. he smiles inwardly at the image of Steve wearing smudged lipstick and wiping Bucky's lips with one long thin fingers. 

Natasha directs Katya to a few darker shades that somehow complement her paleness and make her hair look more vibrant, and then nail paints to match.  

¬_¬

Bucky is almost thankful to be finally out of the beauty shop, and he’s pretty sure Steve is actually muttering a few thanks to god, to have made it out without incident. Natasha is directing them to another shop when they pass ‘Build a Bear’ and Bucky drags them all inside. He talked about Pepper’s teddy bear idea with Natasha when he asked her to come help them shop, and she’d dismissed the idea as childish, saying they just need to work on Katya feeling safe enough to sleep alone.

Natasha is all for tough love, and maybe it works for her and even for Bucky, but Bucky can’t bring himself to form that tough skin when it comes to Katya. He just wants to spoil her, give her something of the childhood she was denied.

So when he drags them into the colourful toyshop, Natasha openly rolls her eyes at him, levels him with a look that says ‘are we really doing this? This is a stupid idea’ but she rolls with it and even helps the men in encouraging Katya to touch the deflated skins of the teddy bears.

Katya’s face when she first feels the softness of the bears is a picture of awe and wonder, and Bucky again wants nothing more than to eternalise that moment with a picture, but Katya’s face quickly turns from wonder to fearful confusion, pulling her hand away like she’s burned.

“I don’t understand.” She whispers. Katya has started voicing more readily when things have turned away from the expected course and in to unfamiliar territory for her, even though that’s the only way she’ll voice it. Bucky understands that she doesn’t have the words to say anything more, as much as he wishes that she could tell him why, or even ask why something is so, he’s learning to accept that she can’t. Not yet.

“New mission.” Bucky states, talking the same way Natasha has been all day. “assess the softness and design of each of the toys and pick out the one that is best.”

“Clarify: Reasoning.” Katya looks at him like he’s just said something incomprehensible.

“I will buy it for you.”

She gives him that look again. “Clarify: function of ‘toy’” she says ‘toy’ like she doesn’t understand the meaning of the word. Hell, she probably doesn’t.

“So you can keep it, hold it whenever you want, give it a cuddle and give it some love.” She still doesn’t look like she understands. He sighs. “Toys don’t have a practical function, they’re just nice to have… If you go pick out one we can get it stuffed and you can hold it tight and maybe you’ll understand then.”

Maybe he should have taken her to a normal toy shop, where the bears are already stuffed.

Katya moves over to the benches filled with limp, unstuffed bears, following an anti-clockwise pattern from the door and around the shop. Steve stays with Bucky by the doors, watching as Katya examines every bear type, and Natasha moves with her. Tasha seems to be enjoying feeling the softness of the bears just as much as Katya is, Bucky can’t help but smile as he notices. Maybe he’ll buy one for her as well, a thank you for helping, even though this is more involved than she wanted to be just yet.

Katya moves over to a display that’s under a sign covered in batman and superman symbols as well as the stretched out ‘A’ that seems to have become the Avengers’ unofficial logo. Above every bucket filled with floppy bear skins is a couple of already stuffed bears, and Katya, after a short conversation and a playful jab to the ribs from Natasha, picks one of the display bears up and walks purposefully up to Bucky.

Once in front of him she raises the bear to his eye level and states quite simply, “Papa.”

Bucky should have guessed from all the ‘A’ signs that there were Avengers bears, but he honestly wasn’t expecting for there to be a Winter Soldier bear, complete with a shiny silver arm and black body armour. It’s a pretty decent replica of his new armour, the only inaccuracy’s are not enough pouches and a domino mask instead of the goggles he sometimes wears.

Bucky takes the stuffed animal from her like it’s made of fragile glass, barely daring to even curl his fingers around it, like it would shatter in to dust under the slightest pressure. He stares at the toy, finally allowing his fingers to move, to feel the soft fur between the fingers of his right hand. Gingerly he strokes a finger over an ear, the nose, down the shiny metallic arm. He turns the bear so its facing Steve and mimicking the way Katya presented it to him, holds it before Steve’s face, metal fingers making the silver arm wave.

“He’s cute.” Steve smiles, stroking an ear. Katya stalks back off to the display and Steve and Bucky follow, this time she presents Steve with a blonde bear wearing a Captain America suit. He takes it from her and laughs.

Bucky looks up from the bear version of him and sees Katya and Natasha stroking the red fur of a Black Widow bear that hasn’t got a suit yet. On one black sole of a foot is the red hour glass of the Black Widow. Bucky glances at the bare foot of an unstuffed Winter Soldier bear and sees the red star that still marks his left shoulder. But surrounded by the blue felt of the bears foot, it looks much more patriotic than the commie symbol he always thought it as before.

There are also green hulk bears and bears in ironman suits, there are bears of all the avengers. Bucky has the urge to buy them all.

“We should get the team their bear versions.” Steve says in his ear.

“I dunno, Ironman has more than enough ego without having a bear.”

“Everyone except Tony then?”

Bucky laughs. “I don’t think I could live with the whining.”

“yeah, you’re right. But have you seen the prices on these bears? Just the bear is $35, the suits are separate.”

“Stevie, did you forget? We’re rich now.” Bucky tells his eyebrows to raise comically. Going by Steve’s snort of laughter, he accomplishes his desired look.

“I know, but I still find it hard to justify spending so much on stuffed toys.” Steve admits. He places the Captain America bear back on its shelf and takes the bear from Bucky to put next to it.

“Maybe we wait until they deserve their bears?”

“Well, if they’re earning the bears, then I’m pretty sure Natasha has earned hers already.”

Bucky nods his agreement. Leaving Steve behind, he wonders over to join Katya and Nat where Natasha has been telling Katya about the Avengers, what they can do individually and who works best with whom.

“Hey, Kiddo, you picked a bear yet?” He asks.

She holds up a bear skin, a slightly lighter brown than the Winter Soldier bear, this one with a familiar white wing stitched in to its blue felt foot. A Bucky bear.

He remembers these things coming out during the war, after a particular issue of those god awful comics. Steve never liked those things because they glorified war to impressionable kids, Bucky never liked them because they made him in to a kid, like what the fuck? Who in their right mind would let a kid fight in a war! Certainly not the Captain America he knew.

Bucky tries not falter when he smiles at her. She probably has no idea what the wing means. There’s no plaque above the old Bucky Bears like there was with the Avengers bears. It’s just got a nice colour fur, soft and strokeable, with warm blue eyes.

“That one huh? You wanna pick out an outfit for it?”

Whatever bubble of normality Bucky had been imagining since they’d entered the shop bursts when Katya asks “Specifications?”

“Uh… something that meets Natasha’s ‘cute’ specifications.”

Katya hands over the bear to Bucky and stalks off to the shelves loaded with tiny outfits on little cardboard hangers. She stalks like she’s approaching cornered prey, like she doesn’t know how to walk any other way.

Bucky barely even gets a chance to turn on Natasha before the spy is raising her hands in defeat.

“I didn’t say anything. She recognised the others as the Avengers, but that one was just any other bear to her. She seemed to like the wing pattern on its foot.”

Bucky was prepared for an argument and he feels a little lost having that taken from him.

“Uh, good. Try- try not to influence her.” His fingers unconsciously stroke at the soft fur. The bear feels weird in its deflated state, soft but not comforting like it should be.

“It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?” Seeing Bucky’s confusing she clarifies, “This whole thing, coming here today has been me influencing that girl. She’s a blank slate, everything we say or do is influencing her. The suggestions I have made about clothing choices today are going to stay with her forever. Influencing her is unavoidable.” She gives a small lopsided smile. “But I think I get you, I’ll try to keep my opinions neutral around her. I won’t tell her what to do. I do, don’t forget, have some experience with this kinda thing.”

Bucky sighs and nods.

Steve had wondered off a bit ago, and when Natasha turns around to inspect the shelves of tiny bear clothes Bucky suddenly feels completely alone, standing in the middle of the shop.

The bear may not have had any information about the Old Bucky bears and Bucky himself, but the outfit that Katya brings over does.

Katya keeps staring at the words written on the tag like if she looks away they’ll disappear.

They’d talked about not getting recognised before they’d gotten out of the car. Had said how in English they were James, Steve, Natalie and Katie, and if they needed to talk about who they really were then they did so in Russian. Steve has learnt enough Russian to get by whenever Bucky gets stuck in that language. He’s not surprised and kind of grateful when she speaks in Russian.

“This is you.” There’s no intonation but Bucky takes it as a question anyway.

“Yeah. From back before everything.”

“before.” She whispers like it’s a foreign concept. And maybe it is for her. Until she came to the Inititative she had no ‘before’ just one continuous existence of pain and orders.  

“Before I became the Winter Soldier, I was a normal soldier in the US Army. Or as normal as you can be when part of a multi-national elite force serving under Captain America. That was my uniform then. Honestly I looked more like Navy than Army with the blue, but they wanted me to match Captain America as his right hand man.”

Katya traces a finger carefully over the wing pattern stitched into both arms. Tasha wasn’t lying when she said Katya liked the pattern.

Bucky is struck with just how normal that is. Just how normal Katya is becoming. Bucky spent years trying to figure out how to be a person, how to stopping judging everything by its threat level and practical uses and how to just enjoy things. But a few short months and Katya has things she enjoys. She prefers the fantasy books to most everything else Bucky brings her, and together they’d whizzed through the Harry Potter books in a few weeks. She likes to race Steve when he runs with her. She definitely likes the assault course at the Initiative, Bucky will run it a couple of times before hitting the free weights. Katya ran it over and over until Bucky had to remind her that food and sleep were a thing.

Bucky shoves aside any trepidations he may have about Katya choosing the classic Bucky bear and aims for a smile.

“So you wanting that one for your old man, huh?”

There’s a slight upwards twitch of her lips as she strokes the wing pattern on the jacket again and Bucky takes that as a yes.

“Come on then, let’s get this stuffed and payed for.” He hands the bear skin back to her and looks around, not entirely sure what to do next. There’s a young woman, barely looks twenty, threat level low, sat on a low stool in front of a slightly imposing machine full of crisp white stuffing.

“Hey! Are you ready to get your bear stuffed?” She asks standing and stepping up to greet them as they approach. Katya clutches the deflated bear a little tighter and takes a half step back. The salesgirl looks a little concerned at Katya and tries to hide it with a smile.

Thankful that they can play her reaction off as a language barrier, Bucky does his best to explain what happens next.

Katya steps forwards again and hands the bear skin over to the salesgirl, her eyes slightly wide and movements timid, Katya looks the perfect image of a shy teen on holiday. Bucky doesn’t believe the act for a second but there’s no reason for the salesgirl not to.

Taking the soon-to-be-stuffed bear, the girl asks, “Do you want a sound or a smell in the bear?” She talks to Katya, despite thinking that she can’t understand, and Bucky finds himself liking this stranger.

He’s finding that he likes a lot of strange sales assistants today.

The girl explains what she means when she see’s Bucky is confused about how to explain that further.

“Uh you can get a little sound thing to put in its paw, like a growl or laughter, or you can record your own if you like.” She points over to a display of little drawers. “and the smells are next to it, there are tester chips next to each type.”

“Uh, thank you.” He puts on a Russian accent with ease. Once upon a time this accent came to him more naturally than the Brooklyn he’s recovered. To maintain the illusion of Russian holiday makers, Bucky explains everything again to Katya. She at least waits until they’re stood in front of the sounds display before flashing him a look that says ‘I’m not an idiot.’

The sounds are all kind of creepy in that overly cute way that kids seem to adore and parents try and fail to stop their children from liking. And the smells are all so sickly sweet they make Katya scrunch up her nose in a really cute way. She glares at him when he laughs at her.

Deciding against sounds and smells, they return to the salesgirl to get the bear stuffed. She asks if Katya wants ‘soft and cuddly’ or ‘hard and firm’ which results in her having to get examples of both styles. Katya still can’t decide so Bucky makes the decision for her, thinking that soft and cuddly would be more, well, cuddly.

Then there’s the whole heart ceremony thing, and Bucky is really starting to regret choosing coming to this shop to get Katya her first ever toy. He’s a little thankful that Katya just goes along with kissing the heart, or well placing it against her lips, before pushing it inside the bears back.

With it stuffed and stitched up, it’s time to make the bear a birth certificate.

“making a bear a birth certificate,” Bucky scoffs, “You don’t even have one, the bear is more officially alive then you.” He tells her.

There’s a struggle over what to call the toy. Bucky isn’t so keen on the Bear being called Bucky despite it being a Bucky Bear. In the end Katya goes with Medvezhonok, baby bear. It’s not the most creative name but no one can exactly fault her.

With the bear in the cardboard carrier, with its outfit neatly folded, complete with a tiny plastic Johnson Rifle and a pair of dog tags that Bucky had picked up while the bear was getting stuffed.

Finally ready to leave, they meet back up with Steve and Natasha in the entrance. Natasha was holding her own carrier box and not looking at Steve in a way that screams purposeful. Bucky smiles at her, and the way that she smiles back seems almost embarrassed and shy.

Steve is loaded up with all the bags of new belongings they hadn’t taken to the car yet, Bucky takes a few of the bags, ignoring Steve’s claims that he can carry them just fine. Some shops offer delivery straight to your home, but if they wanted to remain incognito they couldn’t really put their address as Stark Tower or the Avengers Initiative, that would be just begging for trouble.

It’s getting later in the day and the mall is starting to get busier every second as people flood in from work and school. The increased number of people seems to be putting them all on edge a little, not just him or Katya.

There’s only one last shop to go to before they can get out of here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG what is this??? three chapters at once! have I gone crazy? maybe. 
> 
> This actually catches up the uploaded fic with what i have written, but i wanted to get this group of chapters out in one because they're all basically one long chapter split in to three. 
> 
> This does mean however that i have nothing in the bank to throw at you guys every now and then unless i actually get my butt in gear and write more regularly. 
> 
> but between work and being ill, i don;t have the time nor energy to write all that much. But i'm on the road to recovery now so maybe i will actually have the effort to spare. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed reading and see you soon!!
> 
> Hopefully.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bucky had talked to Hill about this outing, they had agreed that if Katya seemed like she could handle it, then today would be a great opportunity to go to the tower and meet the team.

When Bucky had talked to Hill about this outing, they had agreed that if Katya seemed like she could handle it, then today would be a great opportunity to go to the tower and meet the team.

And they can’t deny that Katya seems fine, other than a couple of hiccups like in the fitting room that morning, Katya has surprised them all by coping a lot better than expected, behaving almost like a real girl.

It shouldn’t really be all that surprising, as Natasha reminded him, the whole reason for her existence was to be able to pass as normal, to play the parts that the Winter Soldier couldn’t. What good would an infiltrator be if they couldn't successfully infiltrate the enemy?

As soon as they got in the car, Katya took it upon herself to open up the box and take out the bear, stroking it and sitting it in her lap and having what looks like a staring competition with the stuffed animal.             

When they arrive at the Tower, Steve parking the car near the elevator, they’re met by Sam bouncing cheerfully out to greet them.

Sam slaps Steve and Bucky on the shoulder as he welcomes them back. He stops in front of Katya, a little unsure what to do. They haven’t met again since the first time a few weeks ago, which even Katya could tell went horribly wrong. That incident also prompted a rather awkward birds and bees talk, explaining consent and stunted explanation of what sexual attraction is, which is hilarious when coming from two guys who took eighty years to admit that maybe they liked each other  _that_ way.

Sam shakes himself and asks, “what have you got there?”

Katya, who hasn’t put the bear back in the box yet, holds it out to for him to inspect. “Medvezhonok.” She states.

“Uh, gesundheit?” he says taking the toy from her hesitantly.

Natasha laughs at him. “It means little bear, Bear cub.”

“Ahh.” Katya holds the box open for him, to either put the bear in or see what else she got, he isn’t sure. Sam swaps out the bear for the outfit. “You got a Bucky bear? Did your Dad convince you to get this?”

“Her Dad feels really awkward about the Bucky bear.” Bucky admits coming round the car to grab some bags. Katya’s eyes go a little wide at that statement and she drops the box like it burned. “Hey, no, it’s OK. I mean, yeah it’s kinda weird to have a bear made after me from a time I don’t really remember well, but you chose it by yourself and I’m not going to begrudge that.”

Katya still looks wary at the box, unsure if she’s allowed to pick it up again.

“Come on, Kiddo, it’s not a test, I swear.” Hunching up to look her in the eyes instead of looming over her. “You gonna pick it up, or are you going to leave it there?”

Katya surges forwards, but instead of picking up the box with the bear in it, she removes the bear and just holds it in front of her looking at its face. Bucky is just waiting for her to wrap her arms around it like a little kid who threw her beloved toy away in a tantrum. But she doesn’t, she just holds it before her like she’s assessing it before carefully sliding it back in the box and picking that up. She lets Sam drop the outfit back in before closing it properly. Katya takes a couple of bags of clothes and follows every one into the elevator.

“Welcome back, Captain, Sergeant. And welcome to Avengers Tower Miss Barnes.” Friday says as the elevator starts to rise without any buttons being pushed. Katya flinches minutely, her eyes darting up to ceiling, but despite the minor twitch of her muscles there’s no other sign that she was startled. It's not her first encounter with an AI, Bucky reminds himself, there's Wednesday at the Initiative. And to be truthful, Bucky still jumps when the AI talks to him without warning.

The doors open on the communal floor of the Avengers floors. And surprisingly it’s empty. Or no, not empty, Barton is up in the rafters. Rafters that serve no purpose other than to let Barton hide out and watch every one like a perv. Bucky occasionally joins him, when he wants to be with people, but not amongst them.

“Hello Clint.” Natasha calls without even looking up as she steps out. Bucky swears those too have a sixth sense for each other. They always know where the other is.

Clint drops down and holds out his hand to take the bags from Natasha, who hands them over. Natasha takes the bags from the rest of them gathering them all together and rummaging through them.

“I thought you were in Iowa with your family?” Steve asks.

Clint shrugs. “Laura kicked me out. I wanted to fix up the kitchen, she says not until Nathaniel starts school.”

Steve raises his eye brows in concern. “Is everything OK at home?”

“That’s lingerie.” Natasha remarks to Clint who was about to nosey inside one of the bags she handed him. He hastily closes it and drops his hands to his sides.

“Uh, yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine.” Clint’s lips twitch up in a half smile. “that’s the problem. Since SHIELD fell, I’ve been home a lot more than I ever was before. I’m starting to feel a little cooped up and I’m driving Laura up the wall.”

“So she’s sent you to annoy us? Wonderful. Help me carry these through to the laundry room.” Natasha says indicating one of the groups of bags she’s sorted through. Things that need to be washed and things that don’t.

Between her and Clint they manage to load up with all the bags leaving Bucky, Steve, Sam and Katya with the much smaller pile to gather up.

“Why did we bring everything up? We just have to take it back down again?” Bucky complains.

“I dunno, I just kinda picked up some bags because everyone else was picking up bags.” Steve admits.

“Natasha handed me some of these.” Sam admits. “You think she’s planning something? She’s not the sort to do anything mindlessly.”

“Maybe.” Steve agrees.

“May as well pull the stickers off the shoes and things, seeing as it’s here.” Bucky suggests.

They drop all the bags around the coffee table that’s placed in the middle of a square of sofa’s. It’s a show of just how lavish Tony is that as well as there being an entire floor of the tower just for social interactions between a relatively small group of people, there are more rooms and areas than they could ever properly utilise. This group of sofas in the atrium area gets used a lot because it’s the first thing that everyone sees when they enter the floor. There’s also a cinema room that gets a lot of use on movie nights, and the dining room with its own lounge area, but then there are other rooms that never really get used. A bar, an actual bar with like a dance floor and everything. A reading room, and a room that’s full of fairy lights and squishy chairs and bubble machines. Then there’s the guest rooms on the far side of the tower, just in case anyone has a guest they don’t want staying on their floor or something. 

Lavish doesn’t even cover it. Obscene is more the word.

The men are all sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa’s as they peel stickers off shoes and pull tags off bags, Steve is re-lacing all the shoes, he’d complained in one of the shops today about how all the laces were just threaded through the first set of eyes and you had to lace them up yourself if you wanted to try them on properly. Or laced wrong, if that is even a thing that is possible. 

Katya meanwhile, has curled up and slotted herself in to one corner of a sofa, somehow not taking up even half of a cushion. She’s pulled out the bear and it’s clothes and laid them out on the other half of the couch cushion. She has the bear’s birth certificate laid out above everything else on the other cushion, the paper doing its best to roll up but it hasn’t been rolled up longer enough to do more than curl at the corners.

She pokes at one of the curling corners and whispers to herself. “More alive than me.”

Its only that Steve is sat leaning against the sofa she’s sat on that he hears her.

“Whose more alive than you?” He asks, twisting to face her, brow furrowing.

She pokes at the birth certificate and offers the simple explanation of “Medvezhonok.”

“The bear isn’t alive Katya, it’s not a real bear.”

Katya offers Steve a look that’s screams ‘well duh’, then looks almost beseechingly at Bucky. Bucky frowns for a moment before he remembers what he’d said in the bear shop.

“I didn’t mean the bear was alive, or whatever, just that it has more official paperwork than you do right now. Uh, I... all I mean is the bear has a birth certificate and you don’t, that’s all. All we know about your birthday is that Hydra started phase two of the Little Winter Project in April. We don’t know how spread out all of your birthdays were, whether you were born in April or March or even before then and April is just when they started the files for phase two.”

Now she really looks confused.

“A birth certificate is how a birth is registered, so you’re officially a citizen of your country.” Sam says, trying to be helpful. “Governments use them to keep track of how many people there are in the country, but mostly they just prove that you’re from where you say you’re from, so you can get a job and stuff.”

Going by the continuation of her furrowed brow, that explanation didn’t clear anything up for her.

Tony saves Sam from having to explain further, walking in a box of something in his hands, coffee cup balanced on top, and some kind of tool behind his ear.

“You’re here. She’s here. Is she moving in?” He adds seeing Katya curled up on the sofa still and all the stuff on the coffee table.

“No Tony, she’s not moving in.” Steve almost sighs.

“OK, when is she moving in?”

“Oh my god, Tony. She’s not.”

“You really want two of us in your tower? Where Pepper lives?” Bucky asks, an eyebrow raised. Katya watches her father then raises an eyebrow of her own at Tony, mimicking him. It would be cute if her expression didn't always say 'I know fifty ways to kill you without moving from my seat, and I have no qualms with doing so.'

“Pepper is the one bugging me about letting her move in, something about being with family and recovery.” He puts the box on a shelf, a big chunky thing that only holds one small glass ornament. He pulls out the pen tool from behind his ear and twirls it in his fingers.

Bucky looks a little startled at that revelation.

“So… When is she moving in?” Though Tony refrains from actually say _when when when_ like a petulant child, Bucky still hears it in his tone.

It’s Bucky’s turn to sigh. “She can’t, Tony, Hill wouldn’t allow it.”

“Why not?”

If he were Steve, he’d say ‘you know why not’, instead Bucky just glares at the caffeine fuelled man, letting his eyes say it for him.

“No seriously, why not?” Stark insists. “Cos, the only reasons I’m coming up with as to why your kid is being kept at the Initiative is because no one has asked if she can move in here. Give me one good reason why she has to be there that isn’t because Hill says so, ‘cause I’m damn sure that Hill hasn’t actually said so.”

“Because I’m not allowed to be her guardian! Because she’s under surveillance! Because she needs the help she gets there!” Bucky finds himself standing by the end of his minor outburst, He’s not sure if he wants to get up in Stark’s space or run away from the situation. Tony has an amazing ability of being able to grate on Bucky's nerves with just his presence. 

“You can’t be her guardian, doesn’t mean there aren’t seven other permanent residents of this tower who can be, and technically she’s, what? Nineteen, twenty? She doesn’t actually need a guardian. She’s under the same surveillance as you are, which also occurs here, why can’t it for her. And why can’t she live here and still get the same help she’s getting there? The only reason I can see as to why not is _you_ don’t want her here!”

Bucky really does get up in Starks space now, using his height to loom over the shorter man. Flesh hand curled in Stark’s shirt, his left curled in a fist by his side.

“You really think I don’t want my _daughter_ to be with me?”

“Yeah, I do. I think you like pretending that what happened to you was just a bad dream.”

“You think I can just forget that?”

“I think you try your damned hardest to forget it, you just want to play make believe with your boyfriend. You don’t want her to be a constant reminder that you can’t, that you have to get over yourself and accept it.”

Bucky has never taken out a knife in the presence of any one, not even when startled, since he’s come to the tower, he has somehow, by whatever miracle, maintained the illusion that he is always unarmed for over a year.

That all goes out the window when he looks down at his own left hand, curled around the handle of a knife, blade pressing against Stark’s throat, just hard enough to draw a small bead of blood.

He’s startled in to action when Katya whines, a small whimpering sound, and Bucky scrambles back, dropping the knife to the floor and turns to face his daughter. She’s curled up somehow tighter than before, hands bracketing the sides of her head, forehead on her knees. Steve and Sam are both on their feet, both with a look that says they were ready to intervene if they had to.

Steve is the first by her side, kneeling beside her on the floor. He offers her his hand, just like he always does with Bucky and coos a few comforting words until she releases her head with one hand and touches her fingertips to Steve’s.

“What’s wrong.” Steve finally asks.

“Loud.” Is all she says, barely a whisper. “Going to get punished.” She adds after a while, glancing at Bucky.

“No. No one is going to get punished.” Steve says.

Her reaction to the argument is a little surprising, you would have thought that she’d had any reactions to noise and stressful situations trained out of her. But then again what are the chances she’s ever seen the Soldier have a shouting match with someone without negative consequences, what are the chances that the Soldier was ever given the chance to get angry without meeting negative consequences before the shouting match ever began.

If he so much as uttered a word out of place, he would have been beaten, shocked and wiped before he managed a second. Correction, if the Winter Soldier so much as uttered a word out of place, Hydra were happy to punish the children in his place, the wipe him and start over.

Come to think of it, what are the chances that Katya has ever seen any kind of conflict that wasn’t completely one sided?

Bucky stands awkwardly away from the others. Shocked by his own actions, of pulling a knife on Stark. As annoying as the man is, that was beyond necessary. He’s also angry with himself for causing Katya distress.

“Yeah, super dangerous assassin, getting freaked out by people shouting. Talk to Hill, she’s coming tonight.” Tony tells Bucky.

“Hill never comes to family dinner?” Bucky’s brow furrows, the words surprised out of him.  

“She’s coming tonight. Big family dinner!”

“Stark, tonight was supposed to be small, just the regulars, we told you earlier.”

“I didn’t plan it, everyone just suddenly seemed to be available the one day we don’t actually want them to be. Even Fury said he’s in the city, might pop round.”

“Fury never just pops round. He doesn’t do social.” Steve pipes up from the couch.

“I may have mentioned the kid was going to be here and he wants to see how she’s doing, you know, what with basically being the director of the Avengers, just without the big office and the lackeys.”

Bucky may be disgusted with himself and his actions, but Stark, despite still holding a hand to the cut on his throat seems to have forgotten the argument, he pats Bucky on the arm before retrieving his box and heading for the coffee bar at the far end of the atrium. 

Bucky’s still standing there stupefied when Natasha and Clint come back in. Natasha stops just short of stepping on his discarded knife, she picks it up and holds it out to him, though she doesn’t let him take it just yet.

“Just because everyone knows you’re armed now doesn’t mean that you can just go losing your cool and taking them out because someone annoyed you.”

“You heard that?” Bucky can feel his ears burning with mild embarrassment.

“Hard not to when you’re shouting. Starks right by the way, you need to learn to get over yourself and accept your past. You’re the Winter Soldier, bad things were done to you, you did some bad things, accept it, move on, help your kid.”

“I’m trying.” He mutters to himself. Natasha raises an eyebrow at him, before relenting the knife.

Natasha retrieves her own bear from by the elevator and sits with Katya while they both dress them in the miniature uniforms. The Black Widow bear’s suit is like the one she wore in Sokovia, with the batons and the super fun electrified knee pads, great for extra painful ass kicking.

¬_¬

It isn’t long after that Pepper shows up, her suit still smart but her hair starting to come loose after a long day in the office.

She greets Tony first, distracting him from his box of bits just long enough to steal a kiss. Bucky would wager a guess that the thing he’s building is some part of another Iron Man suit, going by the familiarity that Stark seems to be putting it together. Pepper tries to fuss over the cut on Tony's throat, but he waves her off with a muttered 'cut myself shaving.' 

Pepper then, after shifting a few things, sits on the coffee table in front of Katya a warm smile on her face. Katya looks up at her from the Russian copy of The Hunger Games she’s reading over her bears head. Her face blanker than Bucky’s seen it in a while.

Despite the lack of any emotion on the girl’s face, Pepper’s smile only grows when she looks up, probably because it's impossible to be threatening while snuggling a teddy bear.

“Hello, I’m Virginia Potts, but everyone calls me Pepper.” At the slight confused furrow of her brow, Pepper adds, “uh, like a pepper pot? It’s a name my parents called me as a child and it’s stuck with me since.”

“Ekaterina Ivanovna Barnes. Katya.” She states. “Hello Virginia Potts, Pepper. It is nice to see you.” Her voice is stiff and mechanical as she gives the learned greeting, but Pepper still smiles regardless.

“Did you enjoy your day at the mall?”

“Mission completed, all sub-missions accomplished.”

“That’s good. How did you feel, being outside of the Initiative?”

“Heavy civilian traffic called for non-handler-“ She cuts herself off, “non-friendly interaction.” She corrects. This time it’s Pepper that frowns. Natasha leans over and whispers clarification in her ear. Non-friendlies = not friends, not hostiles, just unknowns. Strangers.

“I bet you’re exhausted now though. It’s tiring having to keep up a façade in front of people.”

Katya gives a curt nod in agreement.

Pepper encourages Katya into what might even pass as a conversation until it’s time to move to the dining room for family dinner.

Pepper may just be the most amazing person Bucky knows. Katya isn't even attempting her version of friendly and Pepper doesn't seem phased in the least. 

¬_¬

Katya is understandably a little overwhelmed by the number of people, its been a long day of the unknown and making decisions, which though she seems to be more than capable outwardly, Bucky knows that she has to be hitting the limit of what she can handle.

When not at the table, she stands just outside the circle of conversation, at attention with her shoulders square, but somehow managing to look unthreatening. It’s a behaviour Bucky recognises from himself. Hydra would show him off at gatherings of the heads and their entourages. He was dressed in his uniform usually, told to stand like a statue on a pedestal and let the masters touch him, turn his head, dig sharp fingers into his muscles, pull at his uniform. Then at the end of the night they would demonstrate just how willingly he would follow orders, usually in the form of taking a knife to his own skin, letting others run the blade heavily over tender areas. And when they got bored of that let them pull the clothes off him, make him kneel or bend over, let them…

He shudders at the memory, lets Steve pull him closer into his side when he feels him tremble.

Bucky needs to tell her, needs to find some way to prove to her that this isn’t Hydra, nothing will happen if she relaxes.

Just as Bucky disengages himself from Steve’s gentle but iron like grip, Clint of all people, drops down from the rafters and strikes up a conversation with her.

It seems to take a minute or so to get her to respond but after that it only takes one or two more to get her following him up the discreet climbing wall and in to the rafters with him.

Trusting Clint to be left alone with her, Bucky just pulls Steve up from his not-so-discreet watching of Wanda, Vision and Darcy; who are demonstrating their mind powers to the intrigued assistant, and drags him over to talk with Hill and Fury, who has only been around long enough to grab himself a plate with a couple of chicken drumsticks and not much else.

Bucky barely waits for them to turn around before blurting out, “IwantKatyatolivehere.”

He spoke so quickly and suddenly that it sounded more like a stream of vowels and consonants more than actual words, and Fury demonstrates his lack of understanding with a raised eyebrow and a questioning “what?”

“I want Katya… I- I…” he whispers. Asked to repeat himself, his sparse courage has fled.

Thankfully Steve comes to his rescue. “We’d like to move Katya into the tower with us.”

“OK.” Hill says.

“I know you want her under observation, same as Bucky, but that can happen here.” Steve steams on intent on proving his point. “And Katya doesn't see Endris everyday anymore, so it’s not like it’s that much more convenient for her at the Initiative and-“ Hill raises a hand to stop Steve mid flow.

“I said ‘OK’, Cap. I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring it up with Stark since we talked about the changes in your surveillance.” She looks at Bucky. “She’s become an unnecessary drain on resources that we don’t actually have. The Initiative is still small, I can’t spare the man power to have her escorted everywhere, but as much as I think she isn’t a Hydra spy, there are those who think she is, and to be honest with how easily we recovered her from Russia, I can’t really fault them.”

 “I was expecting at least a better lock on the door.” Fury shrugs. “Hydra aren’t what they used to be, but they were something big once upon a time. We found her in a store house about a click away from a nuclear missile silo that’s not supposed to be still active. It was too easy.”

“I- uh, we were expecting to have to fight you on this. You really actually trust her?” Steve asks.

“About as much as I trusted Barnes when he first came in. I recognise she is a victim of Hydra, but we have no proof that she doesn’t still think they have her. So yes, she can move in here with you. The surveillance will continue, as with her meetings with Doctor Endris, and regular sessions with Miss Williams can be scheduled to take place at the tower.”

“Thank you.” Bucky says from behind Steve’s shoulder were he’s shyly hiding.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write....
> 
> I kinda have a love/hate thing with Katya's reaction to Bucky and Tony's shouting match. cos like a hardened ninja assassin bad ass wouldn't whimper, but then at the same time she's scared for herself cos hydra liked to punish the Soldier vicariously through the kids. 
> 
> On another note: Natasha's electrified knee pads. There is no way that a Spy would sacrifice subtlety and the ability to blend in to the shadows without there being a significant gain. So my explanation for Natasha's glowy rave suit in Avengers: Age of Ultron is that Stark has built in extra stingers in to her suit. so as well as the usual wrist stingers she's also got electrified elbow and knee pads, and maybe even stingers on her boots, to give the squishy spy and advantage against the ever increasing number of enhanced threats.   
> In this, I've gone down the route that Nat is also enhanced, but i see her enhancements as being maybe taking a third off healing time, giving her a little more stamina than the average human, but thats about all. a good blow can still take her out, she's not resistant to injury like Cap seems to be.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today has been disproportionately long.

Today has been disproportionately long. Katya knows that there have been no more hours added to the day or even that she has experienced more hours in today. She has simply done more activities in today than what she normally does in any other. Today merely has the illusion of longness. And now she is drained. Katya is more than capable of sprinting 10 kilometres and barely feel winded, she can maintain a quick march for three days before needing to stop. It is ridiculous that a single outing should be so exhausting. 

She was almost grateful when the sandy haired man, (“Barton. Call me Clint.”) invited her up in to the rafters and away from the overwhelming number of people. She doesn’t think she has ever seen this many people in one room since she was acquired by the Avengers. (She knows they don’t own her, the have stressed that enough times that she almost accepts it as fact now. But she doesn’t know what else to call… it… her situation. She was owned by Hydra and now she is not owned by Hydra, nor the Initiative, or anyone.) She thinks that maybe there were large gatherings before, with Hydra, she remembers being told to ‘stand there, don’t speak, don’t move, don’t flinch, not even if you are hurt. Non-functionality requires more than 60% blood loss.’

The man, Barton had dropped down from the rafters beside her and said, “Brainwashing sucks, don’t it.”

She was not supposed to speak, but then he had lent in a little closer, but not invasively so, and said “I’ve been throwing paper balls at Stark all night and he still hasn’t noticed, he’s got like fifty stuck in his hair and its hilarious, wanna come throw some at people with me?”

“The Assets are not allowed to move from their posts.” She’d informed him.

“Oh.” He’d said, “Who told you not to move? I’ll go ask them for special permission for you. You can see everything better from up there.” He pointed up to the rafters.

Katya opened her mouth to inform him, but… But no one had ordered her not to move, no one had told her to keep watch, other than the small throwing knife she doesn’t even have a weapon. She frowned, and allowed herself to let out a small huff of frustration.

“No one. I…” a second huff escaped her without permission.

“It’s ok. Just because someone isn’t currently messing with your head, doesn’t mean your head isn’t still being messed with. It takes time to get over this stuff. So you wanna come keep watch with me from the roof?”

She nodded and let him guide her to the wall with the shelves. It’s discreet, the climbing point, it is just a series of box like shelves. If it wasn’t for the fact that the shelves lead right up to the rafters; far beyond the normal height of a book case or even natural eye lines; and that the shelves were clearly reinforced to hold the weight of a person, then even she might have mistaken the climbing point as just shelves.

She likes the rafters, even if she doesn’t understand why they are present, they don’t seem to hold any structural purpose. But as promised, they do offer great sight lines over the entire area and you can even move from room to room without coming down via small gates in the walls. The gates look like oversized air vent grates, and are placed directly over a beam in every instance. The gates slide upwards or sometimes sideward with the push of a button hidden inside the beams and then close automatically after you’ve passed through them.

Katya follows the beams and gates through to the atrium and then back to the dining room before she settles and watches Papa and Steve talking with Director Hill and a man she thinks she might have seen when they first woke her up from the ice. The first day or so after waking is kind of hazy, the brain has to relearn how to lay down new memories after a wipe and the thawing process is physically traumatic enough that it can’t be expected that she’d be cognizant enough to understand what’s happening during that time.

Barton hands her a strip of paper and shows her how to tear it up and roll it in to a ball. He flicks his at Natasha, who bats it out of the air before it hits her. Katya flicks her own at Steve. The spies and Papa all glance up at her, and Papa raises an eyebrow slightly. Steve doesn’t notice. She flicks another piece at Papa, it lands in his hair, and although he notices the little ball shooting towards him, he doesn’t notice that its gotten tangled in his hair. A third ball aimed at Hill goes wayward and hits the strange man in the forehead. The way he glares up at her with his one eye makes something in Katya want to run away and hide. She doesn’t throw any more little balls after that.

¬_¬

When they’re finished talking, Papa summons Katya down from the fake-rafters with a gesture. She jumps down and lands neatly enough, though the polished marble floor makes her slip a little.

“Bad form, Ekaterina. You need to practice your landings.” Natasha says, right before she jumps up to grab Barton’s hands, where he’s dangling from his bent knees. Barton hauls Natasha up in to the rafters like she weighs nothing and then they’re both disappearing through one of the vent gates and out of the room.

“You looked to be having fun.” Papa says, pushing back his hair from his face with a swipe of his hand. He finds the little paper ball and flicks it away with a mumbled, “Fucking Barton.”

Katya almost admits that the archer wasn’t the one flicking paper at Papa, but if there is going to be punishment then she would rather pass the blame than take it herself.

There are no punishments here, she reminds herself; she can’t seem to stop expecting it. They say it over and over to her, No Masters, No Orders, No Punishment, but she can’t stop thinking of everyone as, if not Masters, then superiors, still expects orders, wants orders, still flinches every time someone gets too close. Or rather, she has learned to flinch, allows herself to, is encouraged to. If she ever flinched before, when there were Masters and Orders and Punishment, then Katya would have been punished all the more harshly.

But here, flinching is encouraged, ‘let your body say no, if your words can’t’ Endris tells her. She doesn’t always, but she is learning to.

“Katya, would- would you like to stay here? Uh, come live in the tower with us?” Papa asks. He runs his metal hand through his hair this time, the plates catching in places, but he tugs it through regardless. He glances at Katya then drops his eyes to the right of her. Sometimes Papa struggles to keep eye contact with people, Katya has noticed. It’s normally not much of an issue with Katya, but towards other people, the doctors and the agents, it can be like he won’t even look near them, can’t lift his eyes higher than their knees.

Katya doesn’t know how to respond to his question. She has been learning how to satisfy simple wants and needs. To recognise she is thirsty and decide between hot or cold drinks, tea or coffee, water or juice. Normally she goes with water, it is best for rehydration. But she has recently learned to desire things, to crave a flavour.

But this question will affect the future, something she is only just discovering she has, let alone can decide the course of. She doesn’t have the facts, how can she make the correct choice without being given the relevant information.

“You don’t have to decide now, you can come see where you’ll be living if you decide to stay here. You can sleep here tonight and decide in the morning if that will help you.” Steve adds. “Do you want to go see your room?”

To see the room will give her information, but she can’t figure out how seeing a place will provide her with the correct answer. Is she supposed to stay in the tower or return to the Initiative? What do the (not)Masters want her to do?

Katya nods.

With a smile from both men, they lead her towards the elevator and then up a few floors.

¬_¬

The elevators doors open on a wide room, a little like the common floor atrium, except against an inside wall is a kitchen, like a bigger version of what is in Katya’s room at the avengers, except there’s also a table like there was in the dining room, but this one only sits six.

There’s a large TV in front of the wall of window across from the kitchen, flanked on either side by shelves of DVD’s, though the bottom shelves of each case are packed full with strips of cardboard.

Katya was never educated in non-essential technologies, but the memory of an old gentleman instructing a young Desyat in how to operate a machine, on to which he placed large black discs, that he took out of cardboard wallets and then placed a needle on to the edge of it. Music had started to play, with a quick beat and a lively tune, and the man had encouraged Desyat, who was being called Anastasia - Ana- for that mission, to jump around and move with the beat, he’d even let her stand on the furniture.

Katya remembers that she’d killed the man that night after the music and the jumping, she doesn’t remember why, doesn’t think she was ever told why, just that she had to. She had remembered how it felt to jump around and dance to the music and had almost faltered, but Desyat was the perfect killing machine, even back when she couldn’t have been older than seven and had pushed her knife in to the soft skin of the man’s throat.

She had almost faltered and then she had felt nothing, but now she feels a tight vice grip around her chest, her heart beats harder and her breath comes quicker and she has to pull her gaze away from the machine that looks nothing like yet identical to the one the man had owned.

Papa notices, and reminds her to count her breaths but otherwise doesn’t say anything about Katya exhibiting weakness. He doesn’t care, no one cares about that anymore, they just help her get over it, they remind her to breathe, give her time and then say ‘how can we make sure that doesn’t happen again?’

She realises Steve is talking “-yourself to anything in the fridge or cupboards, if you finish something just right down what it was on the list on the fridge and we’ll order some more on the weekly shop.” There’s a pause where Katya realises he waiting for a response. She doesn’t really know what he was talking about but doesn’t want to know the consequences of making him repeat himself, so she just says “yessir” and hopes he doesn’t make her repeat what was said. Katya regrets calling him 'sir' when Steve makes that sad puppy face that he makes whenever Katya addresses him as a superior. it makes her feel a feeling in the middle of her chest. she hasn't been able to give that one a name yet. 

“The bedrooms are down here,” Steve leads them towards a corridor, or it should be called a corridor but its wide enough to be a room by itself. “first door is mine and Bucky’s, second is Sam’s, when he stays here, third door is Bucky’s room when he needs some space, and the last three are empty, you can take your pick, though they’re all the same.” Steve stops outside the fourth door but doesn’t make any move to open it, just stands to one side and gestures for her to go ahead.

Though Katya doesn’t want to believe that Steve or Papa would hurt her, she can’t guarantee that there isn’t a booby trap behind the doors. Maybe someone else has planted the traps. Papa sensing her hesitation, opens the door and steps through first, and she scolds herself for hesitating in the first place.

The room beyond is large but not in that oppressively large way that some places have. It is just simply spacious. There is a large bed to the left, a desk straight ahead and two doors to the right, presumably to the closet and the bathroom.

Its sparsely decorated, pale walls and a wood floor, an abstract canvas painting hanging from the empty wall between the doors.

The bed is already dressed with rich blue covers with a thick blanket over the end. At the foot of the bed are the bags Katya recognises from shopping today.

Katya may not be the best judge of others' wants and intentions, particularly not here, where people keep asking her to decide things, but even she can recognise the subtle hint of the bags meaning she is supposed to stay here.

“Do you like the room?” Steve asks, those puppyish eyes looking hopeful.

Katya ducks her head in acknowledgement, wondering over to inspect the items on the desk. A couple of pads of paper, and packets of pens and pencils. One packet is full of grey pencils but another contains a whole range of different colours, bright and cheerful and nothing like anything Katya remembers ever using before.

“When I- when I first- when I got away from Hydra, My memory was, I kept forgetting, I was deperate- so, so desperate to not forget, to remember everything, I wrote things down. Writing made… made everything real, I guess. Made it stick in my head better, ‘cause I knew that if I forgot I could just read it again. I dunno. And- an’ sometimes I drew it, if I didn’t have the words. I thought- maybe- it could help you too?” Papa runs his metal hand through his hair and once again won’t quite meet Katya’s gaze.

Katya doesn’t really understand what papa is asking her to do. She runs what he said over and over again in her head, but still can’t decipher any kind of hidden meaning from his words. So she guesses its kind of understandable that papa stumbles when finally, after too long of silence, Katya asks, “What things?” quietly, barely daring to ask the question.

“A-Any- uh, anything. Everything. Anything you want to remember, or need- need to prove to yourself. Everything that’s important… The first thing I wrote was my name. I wrote it over and over until my hand cramped and then i swapped to my left, then I wrote it over and over until the pen ran out. It was all I had. Other than some confusing flashes, it was all I had.” There’s a long moment where papa freezes, holding his breath to keep the tears and the fear at bay. This vulnerability is nothing like the Winter Soldier Katya knows, its alarming at first, and every instinct that Hydra have ingrained into her is screaming to report the malfunction. But perhaps the most alarming part about it is how she recognises the fear from her own experience.

Katya doesn’t think that she has ever allowed herself to be vulnerable. But since waking up here, everything she has ever know, everything she thought she knew about even herself, has been turned on its head. Everything is confusing, everything is scary, everything makes her want to scream and cry and hide from the world.

What she knows as fact from Hydra is constantly warring with the contrasting fact of this new life, and the chaos in her head leaves her with this constant vice around her lungs and heat behind her eyes, and it hurts. It hurts more than any torture she has endured at Hydra’s whims, because it is not physical, it is not the firing of damaged neurons caught in a constant feedback loop. It is not an ache she has been taught to ignore. It is new and dangerous and terrifying, but despite the shameful weakness it creates in her, she is being encouraged to express it.

She doesn’t tell her body to move, but she finds that she is pulling a pen from the packet and sitting down at the desk. She opens the black bound book to the first page and in her neatest hand, which admittedly isn’t all that neat, writes;

 _My name is Ekaterina Ivanovna Barnes._  
Before I was Desyat, now I am Katya.   
I belonged to Hydra but now I am free. 

_There are No Masters, No Orders, No Punishment._

_Fear is not weakness._

_I am Ekaterina Ivanovna Barnes.  
_ _I am Ekaterina Ivanovna Barnes._  
I am Katya.

Neither of the men ask to see what she has written, Steve has already left the room, waiting outside. Papa is lingering in the door way. When Katya turns around, he smiles and nods, like he knows what she has written even without seeing, before leaving.

Katya turns back around and starts to write again. She writes and doesn't even realise that she is alone. She writes and writes right up until papa comes in and says it is time to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

Katya wakes alone when the sun shifts to shine intrusively through the untinted windows and straight into Katya’s eyes, Medvezhonok still clutched in her hand. Papa had shown her how to operate them last night, how to make them opaque or clear and she had opted to leave them clear to see the stars and lights of New York City. He had given her her new bear, Medvezhonok, and told her what a ‘cuddle’ is. Medvezhonok is soft and will feel warm if Katya holds him for a long time. Papa is harder, made of muscle and metal, but the cuddle he gave her last night was warm and gentle. He had put his lips against her hair and said ‘good night’ to her and she had felt his voice vibrate in his chest.

She has huddled for warmth, and been held tightly to keep her still, and has been surrounded by her siblings to hide her tears of pain and relief from the guards, but she does not think she has ever been cuddled. Not the weapon she was. Mission targets have wrapped their arms around the lost child or their new daughter in some forced embrace, but she never felt anything other than trapped by the closeness of others.

Papa foregoes the chair that he brought in, and instead sits against the headboard, letting Katya settle in beside him, her cheek pressed against his thigh. She falls asleep while Papa strokes her hair with barely there touches. 

But this morning she had woken alone, for the first time outside of a mission she has woken alone. Perhaps even ever, Katya rarely ever slept whilst on missions, and when she did there was normally a sibling or even the Winter Soldier or a STRIKE team keeping watch.

Katya panics.

She jumps from the bed, scrambles for the knife she placed under her pillow, and runs for the door.

She doesn’t throw the door open like her panic demands but instead allows training to dictate her actions and silently pulls it open. There can be only one explanation for how she slept through papa leaving.

Right up to even yesterday, Katya has awoken every time papa so much as shifted in his seat. There is no way that she naturally slept through him walking across the room and leaving her. Not unless she was drugged. But Papa would never- Something must have happened.

The Winter Soldier is a valuable asset.

Katya sneaks down the corridor, towards the voices she hears coming from beyond.

Katya would have liked to have believed that Papa would never have just abandoned her, never have betrayed her knowingly. But here she finds him sat at the breakfast bar while Steve stands at the stove, a pan of something sizzling before him.

Betrayal is an unfamiliar feeling to Katya, her only experience with it are Hydra breaking all their empty promises. 

But here she finds herself betrayed by someone she had come to trust. All training abandoned, she runs at her father, knife held high, not even bothering to quieten her foot falls.

Father hears her approaching before she’s even half way to him, and can react easily to her desperate swing of her knife. The metal hand wraps its iron fingers around her wrist in a vice grip, squeezing tight so she is forced to drop the knife.

Disregarding her own wellbeing, she twists in a futile attempt to break the hold, succeeding only in the audible grind of bone. Ignoring the pain, she levers herself up by the captured limb and kicks full force into the centre of his chest. Though the Soldier staggers, his grip on her wrist still doesn’t falter and Katya can feel the snap of breaking bones. A third body enters the fray and wraps thick arms around Katya in an unbreakable hold a leg snaking around her own before she can kick out a second time. 

“KATYA STOP!” Steve bellows in her ear.

She struggles some more, but more out of defiance than any real attempt to break the hold.

“You drugged me!” Katya shouts, betrayal breaking on her voice. “YOU DRUGGED ME!” She can feel the stretch of her eyes, the pounding of her heart, the desperation of her breaths. It’s the only explanation for how she slept through him leaving. “YOU DRUGGED ME!”

Over her own shouts and panic she can just about hear papa telling her to calm down, to stop, to breathe, to listen. She only distantly hears a female voice coming from nowhere and everywhere asking Captain Rogers if he requires assistance.

She’s barely aware of anything other than her own desperation and panic and being unbearably, unbreakably pinned.

“Prekashcheniye Desyat’!” The Soldier shouts. Hydra’s control breaks to the surface and Katya goes limp so suddenly that Steve stumbles, just managing to catch himself before he sends them both tumbling to the floor.

“Katya?” The Soldier’s voice is layered with concern, such a foreign emotion. “Katya?”

“Ya gotov otvechat’.” Desyat responds. Ready to comply

“Katya, look at me.” The leg that was holding her own tight had released when Steve stumbled, but her feet aren’t even close to scraping the floor. She’s hanging limp from the iron hold of Captain America.

“Katya, please.” The soldier pleads.

Desyat’ can feel the Captains hesitation as he slowly lowers her to the floor.

She can’t even summon the strength in her knees to stand. Desyat’ was ordered to stop, and she has stopped, even breathing, inhaling no more than what the slightest twitch of her diaphragm can take in. She would stop her hearts frantic pounding if it were under her control.

The Soldier makes a gesture and the Captain lowers her to the floor, letting her legs fold under her until she is left sitting on her heels.

She doesn’t look up but she hears the elevator doors opening and boot falls approaching. There are voices she doesn’t care to listen to.

The man from before, Sam, crouches down in front of her. His features are softened by the ghost of a smile.

“Hey. Do you remember me?”

As she is commanded she must comply. “Yes.”

“Do you wanna talk about what just happened?” Desyat’ cannot answer to wants, she has none.

Sam waits, he gives her entire minutes to answer, before asking, “Can you tell me why you attacked you’re father?”

“He drugged me.”

“He drugged you? What drugs did he give you?” Katya still hasn’t looked up but she can _hear_ the silent question Sam throws at the Soldier, the shrug that he returns.

“Made me sleep.”

“I didn’t drug you!” The Soldier counters.

“Barnes!” Sam cuts him off. “Katya, why do you think he drugged you?”

“I slept! I slept and he left!”

“Bucky left? While you were asleep? Why does that mean he drugged you?”

“I didn’t wake up!”

“Maybe he was being real quiet?”

Katya shakes her head, the first movement she’s made since Sam entered. Her neck creaks slightly. “I would have woken.”

“Up until last night she woke up every time I moved, couldn’t even scratch an itch without waking her.” Bucky explains.

“But last night you didn’t wake up even when he left? Right. Barnes did you drug her?”

“NO!”

“Katya do you feel like you were drugged? Do you feel hazy, or light headed or weaker than usual?”

“My head feels heavy.”

“Like when you feel tired?” Sam asks.

Katya nods.

“Is it possible that maybe you were just that tired? I know it sounds impossible, but you can only be on high alert for so long before your body just crashes. I get it must have been scary, it being your first night in a new place, but it had to happen at some point. Did you do anything different last night that might have helped you relax?”

Katya shakes her head, But papa answers.

“We hugged, we haven’t before, she- she feels trapped if people get too close, but last night, I told her what a cuddle is.” He huffs forlornly. “She cuddled her bear, then I asked if she wanted to cuddle me and she did. She melted in to it.” Bucky can’t help but smile at the memory of it. For all these weeks Katya has been formal, distant from everyone and everything, and Bucky can’t fault her that, it’s how she has been raised. But last night, it was the first time he’s truly seen her for the child she is.

When Bucky had first wrapped his arms around her, Katya had been stiff, like an animal ready to bolt, but then she had relaxed in to the embrace, had clung to his shirt and pressed her cheek into his shoulder. Then when he’d sat back against the head board, she’d clung to his leg, burrowing in to his thigh, melting a little more with every gentle touch, until she was out cold, sleeping deeper than he’s ever seen her.

“Did you feel safe?” Sam asks. Katya nods in response. “Well, hugs are like magic. They make people feel safe and a good hug will release these chemicals that help us relax and feel good. And people sleep better when they’re relaxed. Does that sound reasonable? That you felt relaxed and safe?”

Katya finally looks up, her eyes are a little wide, but it’s easy to imagine that on anybody else they would be comically wide and apologetic. There’s a long moment where Bucky can see her struggle for words.

“Ready to comply.” She finally says, a little hesitantly. Normally Bucky would scold every time she falls back on Hydra’s standard responses, but just this once he can let her off, today has been hard enough for her and it’s not even ten am.

Sam, clearly sensing the end of the fight, clears his throat before standing and saying, “You know the best way to say sorry to someone is to give them a hug.” He’s looking at them both in that really pointed way that says ‘I expect you to do as I say’.

Katya stands, and there’s only a moment’s hesitation before she throws herself at Bucky, not giving herself chance to hesitate further. She clings to his shirt and tries to burrow in to his shoulder again, which cannot be comfortable ‘cause that’s his left she’s pressing her face into.

Bucky puts his arms around her, careful not to hold her too tight. Not that he thinks she would notice if he did cling back.

“Hey, you may be all made up and friends again but there’s still the whole issue of why did you attack Barnes with a knife?” Sam adds, seriously.

This time Katya’s eye’s do go wide. Wide with fear and an understanding that no one else shares.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prekashcheniye - Stop  
> Ya gotov otvechat’ - Ready to comply. I took this straight from the movie even though its apparently really bad Russian, i went for some kind of consistency with the film even though this fic isn't compliant. 
> 
> \----------------------------
> 
> So I am super sorry for not uploading anything in forever!!   
> My lapytopy died a death, so i now have a new computer, yey! A colleague at work went off ill so i've had to take on extra shifts to help cover, and i went to an anime convention which was epic. 
> 
> I'm sad to say though, that the infrequent uploads may be a permanent feature from now on as i go back to Uni in a couple of weeks so i need to focus on work.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Wilson doesn’t press for an answer immediately, instead he just leads Katya and Papa down to the little hospital floor of the tower

Sam Wilson doesn’t press for an answer immediately, instead he just leads Katya and Papa down to the little hospital floor of the tower. He sits her on a bed and takes her wrist gently, turning it this way and that. He makes sympathetic noises to the pain Katya doesn’t react to before declaring “yeah that’s probably broken. We’ll scan it to be sure, then splint it, cos there’s probably no point in potting it if you heal anything like your old man. Lollipop?”

Katya stares at the jar that has been thrust before her. Sam takes one of the colourful items for himself before offering it back to Katya. She takes one cautiously, watching as Sam removes the plastic wrapper before popping the ball on a stick into his mouth, and smiles as Katya mimics his movements. Papa just glares at Sam with an eyebrow raised when the jar is offered to him.

Sam then leads Katya through to a room with a big machine and red and green lights above the door outside.

“This bit is beyond my pay grade. The doc who’s gonna do the scans is a nice guy, but he might have to hurt you a little to get a good look at your wrist. I gotta wait out here, so be nice.”

The man inside makes Katya sit on a chair with her wrist on a table beside her. There are no restraints, so she takes a deep breath, preparing herself mentally so she won’t move when he starts to hurt her.

Papa and the others kept saying no more punishments, but it was stupid of her to think that they wouldn’t punish her for something like this. She attacked Papa and the Captain, lashed out with a knife for something as trivial as thinking they’d drugged her. What does she care what others do to her body, she has always existed at the whim of others, how could a few weeks make her forget that?

The doctor moves her hand so it is palm down before moving a machine over it. Maybe they are going to crush her hand, ensure that she won’t be able to hold a knife in that hand for a while.

The doctor retreats behind a screen, probably to avoid any blood spray. The arterial pressure in the outer limbs isn’t that high but it can still cause a mess.

There’s a clunk and Katya tenses, ready.

Nothing happens, the machine doesn’t move, nothing hurts. The doctor returns and asks Katya to move her wrist so that the palm is up.

Again he retreats, again there’s a clunk, again there is no pain.

This time the doctor asks her to move her hand so the palm is facing outwards, the little finger flat against the table.

And the process repeats.

The Doctor returns. He smiles at Katya.

“That’s it! I’ll hand your X-rays over to Wilson. If you want to go back through the door you came in through.” He gestures to the door.

Her body moves, but her mind is still stuck waiting for the pain. He was supposed to punish her, supposed to crush her hand, cut it off and give her a metal one.

She walks through the door and blinks at the brightness beyond.

Papa smiles at her. Sam Wilson grins.

“How’d it go?” Sam asks.

“No pain.” Katya whispers.

“Hey, that’s good. I dunno, I’m a huge wimp when it comes to X-rays. I can march fifteen miles on a broken foot with no complaints, but I can’t handle a radiographer setting up for an X-ray.” 

“Hey, you good, kid?” Papa asks, ducking his head down to her level.

“No pain.”

“That’s good-“

“It was supposed to hurt.” Katya doesn’t understand the rules of these new masters- Not masters- They tell her something is going to hurt and then it doesn’t, she doesn’t understand. Do they expect her to punish herself? It would be ineffective, the body resists inflicting that level of injury on itself. Regardless she grabs her own broken wrist with her other hand, and squeezes until she can feel the bones grind.

“Katya stop!” Papa grabs her arm, pressing into the tendons in her wrist to make her let go.

She relents, if only to prevent damaging her other arm. If both arms are broken she’ll be useless. Broken weapons are useless and will be disposed of, and Papa will be made to shoot her just like she had to shoot Vosem’.

Papa guides Katya back in to the room with the bed and gets her to sit without ever letting go of her arms.

“What the hell was that?” he demands.

“It was supposed to hurt! But he didn’t make it hurt, so I had to! Before-“

“Before Hydra hurts you worse.” Papa finished for her. He kneels down before her so he is forced to look up to meet her eye. “Katya.” He sighs. “No one is going to hurt you like that ever again. I promise.”

He drops his forehead to her knee, still holding her by the arms. “I promise. You don’t have to be scared any more. How can I make you see that?”

“Katya, it’s my fault. I said it might hurt without explaining why. All I meant was he’ll have to move your hand to get the pictures, and that might hurt. I’m sorry for not being clear.” Sam explains.

There’s a long pause where nobody even moves, broken only when Sam finally clears his throat. “You’ll need to have another x-ray to be sure nothing got broke worse.”

¬_¬

There may not be punishments here, not like Katya is used to, but there are still consequences, one being the itchy splint she now has to wear, which combined with the normal itchiness of healing is starting to drive her crazy. It’s her own stupid fault any way so she should just tough up and put up.

Another consequence was she had to have an unscheduled meeting with Endris. Her session with the psychiatrist had been reduced down to three time a week, but this week she had to see him Wednesday for their regular meeting and yesterday before getting to leave the base, and she had to see him today because of what happened and then she has to see him tomorrow still for their normal Saturday sessions. This week has already been exhausting enough without having to talk about how she feels, which is hard because she doesn’t really know how to explain the weird bubbly feeling in her stomach or the light pressure in the back of her throat. No one has ever asked her what she felt before, no one ever expected her to have feelings before, and she’s almost sure that she didn’t, not really.

Endris says that that was just distancing herself from what was happening to her. That if she allowed herself to actually feel the things she was feeling, then she probably would have gone crazy. Or a different kind of crazy than she is. Because that’s how she feels, when everyone else makes it look so easy, and doesn’t worry about being punished with knives and fire, but she’s constantly scared, so constantly on edge that the only time she isn’t she freaks out and tries to stick a knife in Papa.

And that’s another consequence. Katya isn’t allowed to have her knife back, or any weapons at all. And that also includes the practice guns on the weapon training course at the Initiative and isn’t even allowed to use the kitchen knives which means that making food with Angel has been put on hold for the foreseeable future.

And that makes Katya feel something that could probably be described as annoyed. She likes making food with Angel, it’s orders and routine that result in something good, and it’s… peaceful to be so preoccupied with something else that she forgets she is supposed to be a weapon, made to kill and destroy.

On the plus side of everything, Papa’s promise that Katya doesn’t have to be confined while at the tower turns out to be true. So she’s sat in the fake rafters again- a broken wrist isn’t about to hinder her climbing skills- with a book and a thick blue jumper that she may or may not have picked up from the back of the couch on Papa and Steve’s floor and smells like Papa.

Katya has also discovered that she likes being alone here, because she isn’t really alone. People are constantly moving about the tower and if she wants company then all she has to do is approach them.

So far she has come across Barton again, as he passed by in the rafters. He stopped and asked what happened to her wrist then just sat with her for five minutes in silence before moving on again.

And she went up to the top of the tower and stood in a doorway watching Stark as he cut and grind and soldered all the while listening to obtrusively loud music.

She tried to go down, but personal floors are off limits unless invited in, and she isn’t allowed on to any of the Stark Industries floors either, not that Katya thinks she’ll like being near that many strangers.

And now, she is sat reading in the rafters.

“Are you sulking?” a familiar voice calls up.

Looking down, Katya finds Angel smiling up at her.

Katya takes her time to put the bookmark in place and close the book which she tucks under her injured arm before dropping down.

“I do not sulk.” Katya replies.

“I heard about what happened this morning. Are you ok?” There’s an unfamiliar concern in Angels dark eyes. Normally, she is cheerful, even when Katya is being stubborn, always quick to smile and laugh. Even when she isn’t smiling, her body looks cheerful, with colourful threads braided in to her hair, and bright, bold clothes and her perpetual smiley face earrings.

Despite the colour of her clothes, there is something subdued about her today.

Katya looks at Angel out the corner of her eye. She doesn’t like Angel not being her usual cheery self. It takes her a moment to find the words and the courage to speak up.

“You are not happy.”

Angel smiles, small but genuine and still nothing like normal. “I was worried about you. I got a message saying you were in the hospital and today’s session might have to be cancelled.” At Katya’s wide eyes she adds. “Yeah, I worry about you. I don’t know why, I mean, you’re incredibly stubborn sometimes.” Katya bows her head before realising that Angel is joking. She lifts her head and huffs in her annoyance.

“You’ve got the amazing ability of making people care about you, the tragic background probably helps a little, but I think that that’s just all you.”

Katya feels the corner of her mouth twitch up against her will.

“I also may have heard that hugs are a thing now? Can any body ask for one or are they reserved solely for your dad?”

Katya won’t meet Angels eye. It’s an effective way of saying no when the words won’t allow themselves to be spoken. Papa is… Papa is Papa. There are emotions involved there that she can’t name. And there is trust. Katya trusts Angel, but not like she trusts Papa. She trusts Papa to keep watch, she trusts Papa to let go if she needed him to. Katya doesn’t think that Angel would hurt her or make her do anything she doesn’t want to, but the feelings are different with Angel. It’s not a lack of trust, just not the right kind of trust.

“It’s ok. I understand. It’s a dad only deal.” Angel smiles, more like her normal self. There’s a pause, Which Angel breaks with a sudden whole body jerk, that Katya has come to understand is not an attack, or anything wrong with Angel, but is how she ends one conversation and starts another. “So! It is still my job to do lunch. And after a maybe – slightly – very passive aggressive email to Endris about certain rules and where he can shove them, I convinced him to relent to the ban on kitchen knives. The only conditions are they can only be used for cooking, the knives are not allowed to leave the kitchen or dining area and can only be used under supervision.”

Angel shows Katya how to make Vegan Waffles. Papa eats twelve and smiles while he eats. Katya likes that Papa smiles, normally he frowns when he eats, he drinks lots of water after and says ‘yuck’.

Steve has one and pulls a face and says ‘very nice’ in a way that Katya thinks actually means ‘not nice’, and then he makes himself sandwiches.

 

 

 

 

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being free to wonder the tower means that Katya is also free to bump into the other inhabitants of the tower.

Being free to wonder the tower means that Katya is also free to bump into the other inhabitants of the tower.

She regularly encounters Barton in the fake-rafters on the communal floor. He is slowly coaxing her in to talking. He asks her to describe things normally, like mission reports. He asked her to summarise the book she is reading, and asked ‘do you like it?’ Katya didn’t know how to respond. Since that first time Barton has established three categories for books; Is it tolerable? Does she want to throw it out the window? Or does she want to keep reading and reading and reading? The categories help her figure out if she likes something.

(Endris, when Katya told him of Barton’s categories, has said that everything can be separated in to three categories; positive, neutral and negative, and if it helps Katya then she could keep a list, or rather three lists of things that fall into these categories.)

Barton in return describes things to Katya, like old missions, or bow techniques, (because Barton is an archer, he specialises in using a bow and arrows, like Katniss in The Hunger Games!) and he talks about his children and has showed her pictures. Katya didn’t really know how to react to the pictures, they looked like children, bearing a close enough resemblance to Barton to be unmistakably his offspring. He has three children, a male – approximate age: 11 years, initial observations: learning archery, minimum threat. A female – approximate age: 7 years, initial observations: cute pigtails, medium threat level. A second male – approximate age: 2 years, initial observations: Baby, threat level indeterminate. Babies shouldn’t be targets!

Every day of her first week at the Tower, Katya goes up to the lab floors and observes Stark while he works, she has never actually entered the labs yet, but she is curious as to what kind of work he does. Papa, with Steve’s help, well, it was mostly Steve- explained who Stark was and what role he plays in regards to her and Papa. If she were to compare Stark to the roles of Hydra (which are familiar and make more sense to Katya) Stark would be a master, Lead Technical Officer most likely, but not a Head, that role would be reserved for Miss Potts. Miss Potts, Pepper, is a CEO of a whole company, which is like a Head, except she is much nicer than Russian Head Lukin, who touched Desyat with hard, heavy hands and ordered the other Masters and Superiors to hurt Desyat and her siblings. And when Miss Potts smiles, her face is warm and friendly and not like American Head Pierce who made Desyat feel bad feelings in her stomach when he smiled. When American Head smiled then pain would shortly follow. Desyat learned this quickly even though she only ever belonged to American Head Peirce for three missions.

Katya feels bad feelings in her stomach for comparing Miss Potts to American Head Peirce and Russian Head Lukin. Miss Potts was nice and was understanding that Katya was tired and not very good at niceties when they spoke on the first night. Miss Potts smiled even though Katya forgot to properly intone her greeting, and she didn’t mind that Katya held Medvezhonok while they talked and didn’t stand to greet her or even sit up properly. Miss Potts is nice and nothing like Hydra.

The House, which is sentient and can talk and is called Friday, which is slightly jarring because Katya has never encountered a talking house before- The house showed Katya where the gym was. The gym isn’t like the one at the Initiative with its big assault course, but it is more familiar to her with the treadmills and the gymnastic bars and horses.

She warms up on the tumbling mat, before moving on to the balance beams.

Katya is working her way through a pretty simple routine when Natalia Romanova, AKA Black Widow walks in.

Whatever relationship they had formed the other day at the mall has been forgotten, Natalia barely even spares Katya a glance before walking towards the Ballet barre and starting to warm up.

Katya continues with her routine, gradually increasing in difficulty right up to the point where the vaulting starts. Normally she wouldn’t even think twice about continuing, but with her wrist broken and still in a splint and unwilling to be subjected to a third X-ray, Katya decides to try her hand at doing the vault single handed.

Turns out to be a stupid idea without practicing first. She over balances on the beam and her face meets the wood with a resounding smack. The next thing she knows, she’s opening her eyes to Natalia’s worried expression.

“You are an idiot for even attempting that.” Is the first thing she says, tilting Katya’s head up so she can look in her eyes.

When Katya manages to sit herself up, Natalia backs off a little, lingering only long enough to instruct Katya to go to medical and issuing orders to the house to take her there before anywhere else.

Katya has suffered worse injury before and shouldn’t require medical attention, but with the elevator refusing to take her anywhere else, Katya submits and gets herself checked out.

It’s nothing more than a bad bruise that should fade by tomorrow night and a bit of headache.

¬_¬

Meeting Darcy Lewis is… interesting.

Katya is observing her from the rafters. She was sat reading the second instalment of the Harry Potter series, when Darcy walked in, a faint buzzing coming about her person. Seeming to think that she is alone, Darcy Lewis starts moving in a fashion that Katya would be tempted to call an epileptic fit if she wasn’t also attempting to sing as well. She’s continues to jerk rhythmically while she removes her coat and starts digging through her bag. She sits on the sofa with what Katya recognises as a Starkpad.

“We could be Immortals! Immor- Holy fucking balls of Zeus!” She screams, looking up only by chance to see Katya above her.

Darcy Lewis pulls the small buds out of her ears with one hand and a small rectangle out her pocket with the other. The buzzing stops.

“what the fuck! How long have you been there? You scared the shit outa me!”

“Approximately 1 hour and 40 minutes.” Katya informs her, dropping down and standing before her.

“Holy guacamole. I swear I’m gonna have a heart attack one of these days. What is it with spies and sneaking up on poor unsuspecting folks?”

“I did not sneak.”

“No, you were just making like a Ninja and watching me make a fool of myself. You could have like coughed or something before scaring the bajeebus outa me!” Darcy Lewis makes many hand gestures when talking, it is distracting trying to keep track of the movements.

“Your actions were intriguing.”

“You were laughing at me?”

“I did not laugh, merely observed.”

“OK. OK. Jesus. I think my hearts stopped trying to break out of my ribs. Back track.” She takes a deep breath and puts her hand out before her. “Hi! I’m Darcy, I work for the Avengers Initiative, I don’t have any super powers or crazy mad skills and finding people watching me from the ceiling makes me freak.”

“Ekaterina Ivanovna Barnes. Katya. Skilled in close and long range combat, trained in infiltration and espionage. Current Mission: adjust to new environment, Status: ongoing.” Katya holds her hand in front of her, mirroring Darcy. She flinches when Darcy takes her hand. Darcy releases her hand like it burned upon seeing her flinch.

There’s a moment where Darcy Lewis looks… scared. But the emotion quickly leaves her and she smiles. “So how are you adjusting?”

“Unknown. No frame of reference.”

“Fair enough. Hey, you ever heard of Fall Out Boy?”

Darcy Lewis spends the next two hours educating Katya in good and popular music artists and genres. Darcy's taste's in music range from simple, repetitive melodies, with people singing about things like love and money and heart break,  to more aggressive sounding complex sounds with angry people singing/shouting about a wider range of topics. She also has several songs that are not in English, the majority are in Spanish, but there is also some in Japanese, German, Swedish, French. 

Katya finds she can relate better to the angry shouty people more than the soft voices who sing about love and body aesthetics. 

 ¬_¬

The first encounter with Doctor Bruce Banner outside of Katya’s observations of the Lab levels was in the kitchen. It’s almost 1pm which means the hour allotted for her midday meal is almost up and she still hasn’t eaten, not that she’s hungry.

Katya hesitated before entering the kitchen, today she did not feel up to interacting with people, not even Papa. She woke up alone (something that is becoming the new normal, Papa leaving after she falls asleep) and she was glad for it. The thought of talking, of having to be Katya instead of Desyat today, was too overwhelming, but nobody will let her be Desyat, nobody here wants the obedient asset. It’s exhausting sometimes, talking and wanting and answering.

“You can come in; I’ll try not to bother you too much.” Doctor Banner says, tunring to face her. He had his back to her and Katya hadn’t made any sound that he could have noticed. She freezes, he should not have heard her, could not have seen her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m in the habit of being aware of my environment. I noticed the light change on the tiles.” He turns back around around, pointing at the shiny red tiles on the wall and her backlit shadow reflecting on them. He smiles apologetically. “things don’t normally end well if someone surprises me. I’m just about done here; do you want me to leave?”

Katya doesn’t know how to answer that verbally. She has never been allowed to voice her preference over someone’s presence before, either they were there or they were not, it was not up to her.

Instead she allows her actions to speak for her and enters the kitchen. Angel brought her a new flavour of tea last week. Tea is an allowable substitute for a meal so long as her daily calorific intake doesn’t fall below four thousand for five consecutive days. 

She rummages, but can’t find the box of teabags. She frowns and allows her breath to huff out in annoyance.

“Did you want tea?” the doctor asks. “you could try some of mine if you like, it’s a herbal blend I make myself.”

She looks at him, assessing. The likelihood of testing her tolerance to poisons is low, though Hydra did build up a tolerance to most common types of poison that could effect her. Eventually judging his offer as harmless, she nods, a single jerk of her head.

Doctor Banner makes the drink for her, topping off the steaming cup with a bit of cool water from the tap, before setting it on the table.

He sits with his own mug and quietly eats an orange.

Katya decides she, maybe, likes this doctor, he doesn’t try to engage her in conversation, or ask her difficult questions. All he asks her is ‘Is the tea alright?’

Alright; synonym of tolerable.

“Tea is positive.”

“That’s good to hear.” He states before they fall back into silence.

¬_¬

The first time Katya is alone with Sam Wilson, she wakes up to find him in the lounge, some kind of pad covered in buttons in his hands and cars racing on a brightly coloured road on the screen. She lingers in the hallway for a while, observing as the little cars occasionally crash in to each other or blast each other with turtle shells and rockets. Every time one car falls of the rainbow patterned road Wilson curses under his breathe.

Finally, the race seems to be over and a screen comes up

listing the finishing times for each car. Sam appears to have come seventh out of twelve.

He leans back on the sofa letting his head fall back and notices Katya, he jerks up and turns around to look at her properly.

“Err, hey. Barnes is still sleeping, Steve had to go out. I was, uh… Waiting for Barnes to wake up.” He takes a breath and regains some of his composure. “We were supposed to go for pancakes and Macy’s but sleeping beauty is still snoring.”

Katya blinks at the man. The words coming out of his mouth make sense individually, but together she can’t understand him.

“Has any one shown you the miracle that is console gaming?” Katya continues to glare at him. “wanna come whoop my ass on the rainbow road?”

Sam shows her how to make the little car on the screen move, and what to do if she acquires a shell or a rocket.

Once Katya gets used to the strange controls, she does indeed, whoop his ass.

¬_¬

Tony looks up when he hears the quiet scuff of a shoe near the lab door one night. At first he doesn’t see anything and puts it down to Bruce moving around and weird acoustics or something. But then he sees her, a timid crease on the brow of Barnes’s kid, Katie or something, peeking ‘round the door frame.

Bruce glances at her when he sees Tony looking at the door, and goes back to work unconcerned. If the Hulk doesn’t care about their peeping tom, then Tony can learn to ignore her as well.

Bruce said she came to the labs a few times in the first couple of weeks she was here, hiding in the shadows of the darkened corridor outside, never staying more than a few minutes. Tony never noticed her. But for the last month or so, nothing. Tonight she stays for a couple of hours.

Katya actually enters the lab the next night, but doesn’t come any further than the door again. Every time Tony checks on her, she’s glancing warily around the lab, flinches every time Dum-E speeds into things. He should probably take a look at Dum-E’s motors and environmental sensors, somethings glitching out if he keeps driving into things. Fixing Dum-E has been on his to-do list for about forever, so maybe he’ll do that eventually.

On the fourth night since Tony has noticed Katya, Bruce tapped out in the afternoon claiming he needs to sleep, in a bed, at night, for a few nights at least. Tony’s still working, so thoroughly caffeinated he probably won’t need to sleep for a couple more days. He’s got the music on low still, and has positioned a couple of stools around his workshop. One by the door, one at the workbench closest to the door and another at the bench he’s working at. He feels a bit like he’s trying to tempt a stray cat, or something a little more dangerous, to get close enough to stroke.

When he glances at the door to see Katya there again, he lets her settle for a few minutes, trying not to pressure her. After about another ten minutes of work, his back’s starting to ache and he needs a drink. He sits back, stretches, relishing in the pop pop pop of his spine and shoulders straightening, and heads to the coffee machine. He hits the button for coffee but it gives him hot chocolate, frowning he puts another mug in the machine and tries again, definitely selecting caffeine this time. Again it gives him hot chocolate.

“OK, I get it, no more coffee for Mister Stark until he sleeps.” He mutters glancing at one of Friday’s optics. “Maybe tomorrow? I have company.”

He takes both mugs back to the workbench and puts one in front of the empty stool.

“You can come in if you want. Not gonna lie, most of the stuff in here could hurt you, but I do promise I won’t hurt you intentionally. Scouts honour.” He says holding his hand up, like he’s making an oath.

Katya hesitates over the invitation but does eventually slide on to the offered stool beside him. Closer then he’d thought he’d manage first time around.

He pushes the mug towards her in offering before getting back to work building the boot of a new suit. Since his fight with Cap and Barnes he’s been working on making light weight suits with emergency backup power and manual release mechanisms.

She takes a small sip of the chocolate, testing it, but it otherwise goes untouched. She keeps her hands in her lap, overtly not touching anything. Tony almost forgets she’s there while he works, spouting off notes and calculations to Friday. At least until he notices her straining to read what’s on the Starkpad next to him. He’s got it angled towards himself but he doesn’t actually need it at the moment, so he turns it towards her. The kids startles and stares down at her hands in her lap, remorseful for being caught looking.

“You know what those mean?” he asks, trying to modulate his voice, reassure her that he doesn’t mind. He’s no idea if he’s successful, but she answers at least.

“Calculating trajectories. No accommodations for air density or wind velocity, no calculation for Coriolis effect.”

“Friday calculates those with live data. Mostly I use remotely guided micro-missiles, so I just need to lay down the ground work and Friday can work from there.”

The kid maybe nods, there’s a slight twitch of her head, which might have been a spasm or just imagined, but otherwise keeps quiet.

“You a sniper too?” He’s doesn’t look at her, doesn’t pressure her. Pep said she’s still got memory issues and bad social skills. She’s basically Barnes in miniature, and ignoring him while he decides to answer tends to get him responding quicker than if he feels pressured to answer.

“Papa is better.”  

“Barnes has been shooting for nearly eighty years, he’s got more experience.” Tony shrugs. “what’d you use.”

“I was typically armed with the Dragunov SVU for long range or the SVDK for short range. Though I have received training on numerous other sniper rifles, including the OSV-96 and several American and British models.”

“The OSV-96? Isn’t that bigger than you are?” he frowns, trying to remember correctly, there was the OSV-ninety something and the SV-ninety-something else, and about twenty other Russian sniper models with letters/number combos for names. One of them was like six-foot-long, and yes he knows snipers are big but that is just ridiculous.

“Its full length is 68.7 inches. It is five inches bigger than me. It is… awkward? To handle. But is a highly effective weapon when set up.” She sounds almost reverent. Tony can sympathise, maybe, he can fanboy with the best of them over tech.

“I can imagine.”

There’s a few minutes of silence, and Tony swears he sees Katya’s fingers twitching like she’s checking his maths or something.

“You have a question.” Tony states.  

“You make robots. Robot suits.”

“Yes.” Tony gives her a few minutes to continue, but after she huffs a second time and frowns at the middle distance he decides to save her. “Why do I know about Sniper rifles and bullet trajectories?”

Katya nods.

“I used to make weapons, that was the main export for Stark Industries until recently. Big stuff mostly, missiles, armoured vehicles, unmanned land and aircraft. Military stuff. But I know my way around a gun as well. Granted that was mostly handguns and machine guns, that kinda thing. When Barnes joined us, I made him a few compact, long range rifles. Had to do my homework though. I couldn’t make anything with the range of the OSV-96 but I was damned close at about half the length and a fraction of the weight.”

Tony definitely sees her sit up straighter at that, he’s piqued her interest.

“Has anyone shown you the range at the Initiative?”

She wobbles her head from side to side in a way that makes her look more six than sixteen. “Not allowed.”

“Cos of that thing with Barnes?” She nods, probably, again it’s that small jerk of her head that might have been a muscle spasm if not for the timing. What do you have to do to someone to make them think they can’t even move without permission, to make them think they aren’t allowed their own thoughts or opinions. What reason does anyone have of making someone scared to even nod when asked a question?!

“You done anything like that since?” Tony already knows the answer, if she’d so much as looked at a knife without supervision he’d have been informed.

She twitches her shoulders and drops her head to look at the table.  She looks guiltier than a sinning saint sat trying to curl up under her hunched shoulders.

“You know, Friday gives me a report on you at the end of every day. Incredibly boring to read.” He doesn’t look up from working on the boot, this particular bit of wiring is complicated and delicate to work with. “gives me all kinds of data; heart rate, blood pressure, location, what you’ve eaten, how fast you ran on the treadmill and how much weight you lifted on the machines -which by the way is slightly terrifying to know. But at the bottom of the report every day, Friday gives me a psychological analysis of you. and in her opinion, you’re more likely to hurt yourself in a stressful situation that you are others. You turn everything inwards, which I’m supposed to say is bad, very unhealthy, do not do. But in my opinion, you’re more likely to, i dunno,  try and break your own wrist than let someone else be punished for not hurting you, then-“ He shrugs. “everytime someone has tried to take something I enjoy away from me, even if it’s for my best interest, I’ve lasted maybe a week before going a little stir crazy and latching on to something new and probably more dangerous. What I’m trying to say is, if you want to do something then I think you should be allowed, with supervision and in moderation, yes – you don’t want to be me, trust me- but if it stops you from going stir crazy then, absolutely, cos I dunno about the others but I don’t want to know what you’re capable of when desperate.”

Tony straightens up, finally putting down his tools. His watch is saying 3:17am which means they’ve been here a little over four hours.

“I can talk to your doc, maybe he can give a decent reason why you shouldn’t be allowed to shoot a few guns, maybe he can’t, but right now I am going to sleep, so scoot. Scoot. Can’t leave you here unsupervised. Tower rules. No unauthorised personnel in the labs unsupervised. Labs are dangerous.”

Katya walks out ahead of him, she stops and turns back to him, standing straight backed and expectant, likes she’s waiting to be dismissed.

Tony’s half tempted to indulge her, but as well as Friday’s reports he gets overviews from Endris and Williams on the kid. They’ve told him how she thinks of Pepper as a what she calls ‘Head’, and of others, himself included as ‘masters’ and ‘superiors’. About the only person who hasn’t landed some twisted role in her head is Barnes.

“Elevator is just there, I’m going to take the stairs, only going up one floor. Night.” He turns and walks for the stairs not waiting to see if she accepts his not-dismissal. He can practically hear her hesitation before she turns away herself.

It’s not until Tony is walking up the stairs does his brain finally supply him with a little bit of fear over what could have happened. If Friday’s reports were wrong, if he’d managed to trigger her with his bad choice of words, there’s an endless list of possibilities.

By the time he’s shutting the stairwell door and heading for the interior stairs up to bed, his mind is starting to quieten a little. All those what ifs are useless, nothing happened, if anything he’s just proven to himself just how well she adjusting.

He smiles as he climbs into bed and gives Pepper a soft kiss, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

Kids going to be fine. It’s going to be a rollercoaster ride getting there, but no one’s ever claimed recovery is an easy ride.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katya’s been at the tower for over four months now.

Katya’s been at the tower for over four months now. She’s settling in at an incredible rate, and soon enough everyone has a story or two of how Katya has approached them warily, didn’t disappear out the room as soon as they entered, actually had a conversation.

Sure, there are still ups and downs. She’s finally remembered enough to start having nightmares, which is, in a really fucked up way, actually good news because it means she’s traumatised, which means that she has some kind of understanding that what was done to her is bad, and that means she can start to process and recover from her trauma.

The nightmares, however, mean that she’s starting to have difficulty sleeping again, but now there’s no instant fix, Bucky can’t just hold her hand and watch her sleep through the night anymore. Sometimes she’ll just gasp awake and not remember what she was dreaming about. Sometimes it takes Bucky or Steve to wake her up with a shout, Bucky learned the hard way not to touch her when she’s having bad dreams. Sometimes, and are the worst times, they can’t wake her up, and they can nothing but watch her whimper and thrash until she wakes, screaming, and panicking and confused.

 

She’s adapting to normality at a remarkable rate and the only person who seems concerned about that is Doctor Endris. He’s not convinced that her ‘recovery’ isn’t just her creating a new persona for a mission. Natasha says that that’s basically what she’s doing, except she says it’s a good thing. Katya viewing her adapting to a new environment as a mission introduces a sense of familiarity. She’s creating a new persona from scratch, the fact that its consistent from person to person is amazing in and of itself. She’s created a personality rather than just a handful of masks to put in place when needed. It took Natasha years to learn how to have a personality. It was the Avengers that helped her be a person and not a weapon.

Even if ‘Katya’ is a mission cover, long term undercover agents can have a hard time separating who they are and who their cover is, once the mission is over. This mission has no clear end so why not let her be ‘Katya’ until she eventually becomes Katya.

Katya isn’t a great conversationalist or a fan of crowds of more than three people, but then neither is Bucky, or any of the Avengers really. There’s consistency in the base personality of ‘Katya’, but she’s different depending on who she’s with, which is pretty normal if you ask Natasha.

Katya is comfortable with Sam when they play video games together, talking quietly and she’ll even laugh and elbow Sam to distract him, but when Darcy joined them once, she retreated back in to her shell, eventually putting the controller down and retreating to an armchair and just watching.

Sam is careful, words and tone chosen with the intent to keep her calm and feeling safe, every distracting nudge is to her arm careful to never hit her ribs which she’s starting to be self-conscious about. But Darcy is loud, impulsive, tactile, and not used to censoring herself. Things that don’t go well with trauma.

With Banner, Katya sits quietly, fetching each other cups of tea from time to time. They’ll make sparse conversation, or occasionally Banner will explain something to her, normally something related to what he’s working on. She’ll leave as soon as someone (normally Stark) comes and breaks their peace.

She’ll never stay in the same room as Stark if there is anyone else there, Stark is apparently unable of censoring himself in anyone else’s presence, but they regularly spend insomniac nights together in his workshop. Katya watching while Stark works, even asking questions or offering her own input occasionally.

She is wary of Wanda and Vision, of whom she’s remarked that ‘they smell of power’, which Bucky has to agree to, they give off an aura of power and danger that makes his own instincts flutter with fear, if not for the fact that he _knows_ they would never hurt him, he would probably steer well clear of them himself.

The face that she presents to Bucky and Steve is more like the old Desyat than the new Katya she presents to everyone else. But they are part of her safe zone, an area where she can fall apart and not have any expectations placed on her. Where she can hide under the covers with Medvezhonok and only talk in Russian after a bad nightmare. The language difficulties are- Bucky would have expected them originally, he regularly gets stuck in one language or another, sometimes going days where he forgets every other language expect which ever he’s stuck. Just last week his was stuck in French for two days. But, he now knows that his language difficulties are his brain fixing itself, temporarily wiring English out the system while repairs are done. Katya’s brain is pretty much intact, its psychological, not physiological that she forgets how to speak everything but Russian.

¬_¬

There was a storm last night. Storms bring danger and complications to mission success. Storms in not-Hydra Avengers tower apparently bring gods. Katya has been briefed on the Norse thunder god, Thor. She was excused from not being present in the too-loud too-close clamour that followed his arrival as all the towers residents descended to greet him.

The storm made bad memories surface for Katya, which is why Katya knows that storms compromise mission success. Unsuccessful missions warrant punishment and punishment, though understandably essential, should be avoided at all costs. Punishment compromises functionality, if functionality is compromised beyond 75% then an Asset will be considered non-functional. An Asset that is non-functional cannot be useful and must be terminated.

Katya doesn’t leave the Captains floor for days after the thunder gods arrival. Her brain feels fuzzy and her sleep is interrupted by bad dreams and bad thoughts and she forgets how to speak English.

English is not essential for communication within the tower, most residents speak a second language, but only Papa and Natalia and the Witch, Wanda speak Russian fluently, but Katya does not like to stay in the witch’s presence, Katya knows the witch could break her with just her mind. Steve is learning and Barton can order food and swear, which he claims is all he needs to know.

Angel, seeming to become bored of Katya’s behaviour and inability to communicate, finally summons Doctor Nixon and her needles full of drugs and makes Katya sleep so her brain can reset. She says sorry and sorry and sorry and it is only as the drugs take hold that Katya realises that Angel must be worried, not bored, because Katya hasn’t slept for nearly a week.

On the fifth morning since the storm, Katya wakes and her brain is less fuzzy and she feels ready to get the hell off this floor. The walls cannot move and Katya _knows_ this, but it feels like the walls are getting closer and she has to leave. It’s early, pre-dawn and Katya wanders down to the communal floor with a pilfered, much too big (probably Steve’s) jumper and the Starkpad that Stark thrust at her one night.

Katya dares to sit draped over one of the armchairs that gets the first light of the day.

She is still there, basking in the warm light, when the elevator doors open almost silently and a big strange blond man and a tiny strange brunette woman emerge from within.

Thor is BIG, bigger than Captain America, and blonder, with more presence than Tony Stark and more authority than Fury. He walks like a man trying not to accidently lay claim to his surroundings. His scent is very regal, and very alien.

Jane Foster however, is tiny, smaller than Natalia but with more sharp and certain eyes. Jane Foster is a person with a dangerous amount of knowledge. Jane is human, but there is something… wrong about her.

Katya makes the active decision to do nothing, despite the panic drumming on the inside of her skull. Thor is Power incarnate and she cannot beat him in a fight, her instincts are telling her to run. Screaming louder than even with Wanda and Vision.

Katya has spent the morning comparing what the initiative knows about Thor’s people and that the internet has to say about Viking history. Thor was supposed to be a benevolent god.

Thor and Jane cross from the elevator and towards the kitchen. Jane has her nose buried in a small notebook over stuffed with inserts and page markers. She walks blindly like Katya has seen Stark and Banner do too, with just enough peripheral awareness to not walk in to a wall. Thor who seems to not have noticed Katya yet, steers Jane in to the kitchen before she can walk straight past it.

Katya thinks, she could slip away now, unnoticed, and unmissed.

Thor takes her choice away from her, stepping straight back out after seating Jane at the table.

He stays in the doorway though, and they look at each other for a long moment, assessing.

Threat level: big bad ugly mess of trouble, just run away and hope he doesn’t follow!

He’s assessing her too, probably deciding if she’s likely to become an annoyance before he can finish his breakfast or if he should just squash her like a bug now.

But then his face splits into a big bright sunshine smile, but it’s quickly toned back into something more sombre. He walks towards her, stopping just outside the circle of chairs.

“You are the daughter of the Warrior Barnes.” he states. He waits for her to acknowledge him in some way. She nods curtly. “He and the Captain have told me of your origins. It deeply troubled me to learn that there are monsters foul enough in this fair realm to do harm to a child.” He steps forward slowly, allowing Katya the chance to express if she is uncomfortable with his proximity. Which she is, but the god could accidently squash her with a misstep, she’s not likely to move in his presence.  
“When I first came to Midgard many of your centuries ago, there was an evil doing harm to children then also. I vowed I would do all that is within my power to protect the young of this realm. I made this vow upon my Hammer Mjolnir and since, fathers did present their children with a pendant in the fashion of a hammer.”

He steps forwards so he is right in front of her chair and crouches. He seems to loom over her even kneeling as he is, even looking up at her as he is. Katya has an awful flash of the Masters using their height to intimidate, to control, and she flinches back into the chair. Thor Shuffles back a little, still close, but allowing her room to stand, to flee if she needs to. He gentles his expression and opens his posture so he is as non-threatening as his build allows.

He continues, “I am not your father, so perhaps it is not my place to do so, but I wish to present you with his.” He holds out his hand and dangling from a leather thong is a metal pendant, shaped like a Viking hammer, so different in shape to the hammer he wields. It is carved with small runes and seems to glow in the morning sun.

“It is spelled with charms that will ward off ill dreams and if you need, so long as it is warmed with your heat, you can focus your will on myself, and I will know you require my assistance.”

Katya stares at the pendant, dwarfed by the hugeness of the god’s hand. She shares no blood or bond with Thor, he has no reason to care for her or give her gifts.

It takes her many long seconds to realise her eyes have gone wide and she’s holding a breath, which she releases shakily and schools her features a little, but not successfully. She reaches out with a slight tremor in her hand and takes the pendant. She stares at the little shape in her palm for a handful of second before closing her fingers over it.

It’s hard to look up at Thor, he has presence like a Masters, and an Asset must not look a master in the eye. And even beyond that, for such a large and intimidating man, he has such a sad and tender smile on his lips it’s painful. And that smile is directed at her, which it has no right to be doing so. She is not deserving of tenderness. She is a weapon. She is a killer.

She forces herself to look up, but she cannot meet his eyes.

“Thank you.” She murmurs, and the sad smile stretches into a genuinely pleased one. The corners of her own lips quirk up in response.

“Thor?” Jane calls out form the kitchen doorway and Thor stands and retreats to his companion’s side.

“Oh hi!” Jane smiles widely upon noticing her. “Katya, right?”

Katya nods politely, the quickly buries her face into the back of the chair, she’s still sprawled across. After Thor’s presentation, she’s hit her limit of human interaction for the week at least.

Jane seems to understand and walks back into the Kitchen, Thor following her.

Katya opens her fingers and looks at the pendant again. It’s unpolished silver but has just enough of a shine to glint in the morning light. She knots the strap and slips it around her neck, still holding it as she returns her attention to the Starkpad and Viking history.

¬_¬

Thor is, perhaps, an ally. She’s still trying to decide that. A single interaction, regardless of it positivity, is not enough to forge an alliance.

She still doesn’t like Jane. She is… wrong.

She spends the entirety of family dinner later in the week trying to discern the cause of her wrongness.

“What are you glaring at Jane for?” Papa asks in Russian, coming to sit in the chair next to her. “Did she confuse you with some technobabble? She’s just passionate about her work, that’s all.” Papa is having a good day. Steve says he’s almost like his old self on good days. He talks and jokes and flirts with everybody. He can even maintain a conversation with Stark for more than ten minutes.

“Her scent is wrong.”

Papa scents the air. “Can’t really tell, too many people.”

Steve doesn’t like when Papa and Katya talk about scents, he makes the sad puppy face and says angry things about blood hounds and Hydra. But he’s not angry at them, he’s angry at Hydra. It’s confusing because it’s a wrong thing, because it’s what Hydra made them do and everything Hydra made them do is wrong, buts it’s not a bad thing because it’s a side effect of the serum and even Steve has an enhanced sense of smell, but he didn’t receive any training in how to utilise it.

“Scent her.” Katya says. Papa just raises an eyebrow at her.

If Papa was having a bad day then papa would have stood up and approached Jane Foster, but today he is having a good day which means she is about to be lectured on manners.

“You can’t just walk up to people and sniff them. It’s weird and probably rude as well.”

Katya has overheard Sam Wilson say that her default mood is ‘doesn’t put up with any shit.’

Katya is not going to put up with Papa’s shit about manners. She stands up and walks over to Jane Foster.

Katya’s brain is recovering from trauma, and is fuzzy around the edges because there are too many people and it’s too loud and she wants to leave, but she wants to stay and eat the food while it’s still tasty and not the cold left-overs from the fridge later tonight.

When her brain is fuzzy because there are too many people, it makes her a coward and show weakness. So, when Jane Foster looks up at Katya approaching and smiles, Katya’s confidence fizzles up and dies in her chest and she can’t ask Jane Foster if Papa can scent her and explain why she smells wrong.

Katya lingers only long enough to _hear_ a wrong thing about Jane Foster as well, before she scurries back to Papa and curls up on her chair.

“She has two heartbeats.” Katya tells her knees.

“She what?”

“She has two heartbeats.” Katya repeats because Papa on a good day is also deaf and/or stupid and needs things repeated regularly.

“You mean like the ba to the boom?”

Katya glares at Papa because he is definitely stupid on good days because what does that even mean?

“There is a secondary heart beating at a faster rate than an adult heart can healthily maintain. Like a small animal’s.”

Papa’s eyes go a little wide like he’s just realised something.

“Jane’s pregnant.” He’s reverted to English.

Katya’s face makes a frown.

“She’s pregnant. Do you know what that means?” Papa asks.

Pregnant: often used in a futile attempt at discouraging Desyat’ from finishing the mission. _Please, my wife is pregnant, please don’t._ Assessment: no. what is pregnant?

Katya shakes her head.

“She’s uh, there’s… She’s pregnant.” Papa huffs. We have established this, what is pregnant? “It- it means there is a baby in her belly.” Katya’s eyes go wide. What?

“She didn’t eat it or whatever you’re thinking. Err, Thor and Jane love each other, so they, uh, they cuddled in a certain way, and Thor gave Jane a special present and now there’s a baby growing in her belly.” Papa groans, running his metal hand through his hair because Papa is an idiot and likes to get his hair caught between the plates of his metal hand when stressed. “Tasha help!” Papa says because even on good days when Papa is an idiot he has excellent situational awareness.

“Help with what?” Natalia stops where she was walking behind them.

“How do… make babies?!” He runs his left hand through his hair again, pulling when it snags, before dropping his head back to look up at Natalia upside. Probably right up her nose.

“Jane didn’t eat a baby.” Katya clarifies.

“Janes pregnant?” Because Natalia doesn’t have an enhance sense of smell. She pulls a chair around and grabs a beer from the table before sitting. “Thor and Jane had sex.”

“Punish… ment?”

“That’s sexual abuse. Rape. Where one party does not consent.” Natalia points at Katya. “In sex. Both parties consent and are willing because they… Love each other. Sperm – semen-  contains 50% of the DNA required in the production of an offspring. The Female produces an ovum, also called an egg, which contains the other 50% of DNA. The sperm and the ovum combine and a foetus is created. The foetus grows in a woman’s womb until its ready to be born. As the pregnancy progresses a woman’s belly will distend and grow. Lots of women say they look fat when pregnant.”

Katya saw several women with big bellies, she was often told to shoot them in their swollen stomachs. Just as Katya is coming to realise that she killed children, babies, Stark choses that moment to open his big obnoxiously loud mouth.

“Are you explaining reproduction to creepy and creepier?”

“Reproductive biology wasn’t high on Hydra’s curriculum.”

“Why are you explaining the birds and the bees? Are you pregnant?”

Natalia shrugs dismissively. “I can’t get pregnant.” She says it so causally it’s definitely a sore topic for Natalia.

 “Really? Its’ not you, it’s definitely not Pepper, Wanda- nah. Darcy would be having some kind of emotional breakdown, so… Jane! Congrats on the baby!” Tony shouts over to her.

“Jane frowns. “what baby?”

“That you’re… have I just outed your secret? Oops.”

“I’m not pregnant, Tony.”

“Then why are you talking about how babies are made?” Stark turns to Natalia again. Papa knocks the heel of his metal palm against his head with a loud thunk as he runs his fingers through his hair again. When he moves his hand away he has a big red mark on his forehead, if he keeps this up, he’ll probably have a bruise tomorrow.

Everyone has stopped and is staring at them now. At least on good days Papa has the courage to explain awkward situations. “Katya said your scent was off, and you have two heart beats. Asked me why. I can’t hear the heartbeat in here, but I can smell the pregnant hormones now I know that’s what I’m smelling.”

“I’m not pregnant! I would know if I’m pregnant!”

“Wait you can smell her?” Stark asks. Loudly. Right next to Katya’s ear. And her enhanced hearing. She winces.

“I am NOT pregnant! We haven’t even… I mean we have, but not… I can’t be… except… On Asgard, we…. Oh god. Oh god.” Janes turns to Thor and slaps his arm, probably hurting her more than the god. “You got me PREGNANT!” She drops her wine glass like its poisoned, it tips over and spills the last red drops on the white cloth. “I need. I just need…” she rushes out the room, followed shortly by Darcy at a more sedate pace.

Everybody turns to look at Papa and Katya again, and Katya feels like the moment when she realises she just upset the handler, the drawn-out seconds before the slap across her face and rough hands in her hair while they decide how to punish her.

Katya’s breath hiccups in her lungs as she struggles to remain still and compliant for the masters. A small but firm hand pulls at her elbow, forcing her to stand and leave the room. A gentle voice orders her to “breathe in, hold, release, again. Good.”

¬_¬

Katya is hiding out in the rafters of one of the unused rooms when the shouting starts. Natalia may have helped her calm down yesterday, but Katya still can’t shake the feeling of impending punishment.  

Thor apparently wasn’t welcome on his own floor last night after Jane found out she’s pregnant, and slept in one of the guest suites on the communal floor. Jane has sought him out. She can shout very loudly.

“Open up, you goddamn asshole.”

Katya isn’t close enough to hear Thor, if he says anything.

 “I’m pregnant! I am actually pregnant, I did a test and Bruce did an ultrasound and I am actually pregnant!”

“No, it’s not, this is bad, this is very bad news. I can’t have a kid, I’m not ready to have kids! I’m currently unemployed because I was stupid enough to take SHIELD up on their offer. I don’t have a house or a car or anything because I was an idiot and agreed to go to Asgard with you. And now I’m Pregnant.”

“Don’t worry?! Are you actually shitting me? You’re an alien. An actual fucking alien regardless of what you call yourself. And you got me pregnant!! What is this child going to be like? Are they going to be human? Are they going to be Asgardian? What? Has this ever happened before? Your people live for five thousand years!!! Is this baby going to still be in nappies when I’m old?! I can’t- I can’t-“

Whatever comes next Katya doesn’t hear. She does hear a door shutting though, so assumes that Thor has lead Jane into his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the what, a new chapter after all these months?!?!
> 
> I'm still working on this, i promise!! its just taken a back burner while i'm back at uni and writing essays and reading way too many books at once. 
> 
> I might be going over this fic and reuploading an editted version at some point. if that does happen i will of course let every one know whos following this version. Probs wont happen for a while at least any way. 
> 
> In other news....
> 
> yes i jumped on the band wagon and i'm writing pregnant Jane.   
> And just like with everything else in this fic, i take your happy new mum Jane and raise you a sane persons reaction to getting unwittingly impregnated by a 1000 year old, lightning wielding, brick shit house of an alien. 
> 
> I've been thinking about baby names for baby Thor. I plan on making it a girl and stylising her after Torunn in Heroes of Tomorrow.   
> I was thinking Aesirda which rather blatantly means 'woman of the Aesir' but then thought it sounds a little too much Isildur. thought about contracting it to Aeda, but its sounds old schooly like Ada, and Jane doesn't seem like the kind of person who would go for old timey names unless it was in homage to some scientist or another. 
> 
> If any one has any suggestions for baby names, let me know. Best names get cookies.

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that this story will probably be a slow update. I'm a bit of a coward when it comes to uploading stuff that I like, and this is my first multi-chapter fic that actually has any prospect of getting finished. 
> 
> Any criticisms and/or suggestions are welcomed and encouraged.


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